


Coloring Outside the Lines

by olivebranchesandredwine (DocOlive)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoos, Anxiety, Blow Jobs, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Canon Queer Relationship, Canon Related, Developing Relationship, Drunk Patrick, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Frottage, Gift Art, Hungover Patrick, Introspection, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Overthinking, Patrick Brewer is Thirsty, Pining, Porn With Plot, Pre-Canon, Rimming, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2020-06-02 07:19:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 21,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19436605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DocOlive/pseuds/olivebranchesandredwine
Summary: David Rose is hiding something under his black and white sweaters. A story about boundaries, boys, tattoos, and love.5/23/2020: Now with art!





	1. New York, circa 2009

**Clear boundaries.**   
**Defined edges.**   
**Black and white.**

It’s not just an aesthetic choice for David. He likes it when things fit wholly into their proper places; when boundaries are firm, the lines are clearly defined; when ground rules and safe words are established and followed. He likes the clarity of it, the simplicity of it, when life can be distilled so cleanly into black and white. His wardrobe reflects that part of David’s personality. It’s a monochromatic suit of armor, protecting him from the messiness of the spaces in between, where life isn’t so clearly defined. Shades of gray make him nervous. 

In an ideal world, David thinks, everything would be as clearly defined as his wardrobe of black and white sweaters. Simple. Elegant. In that ideal world, he imagines, that armor wouldn’t feel so necessary. 

But the world is neither simple nor clearly defined. As much as he’d like to make his boundaries impenetrable, he finds they still crumble, all too often. And every time they crumble, he tries to find a new way to build them up, to protect himself from the oppressive mess of the world around him. 

That’s kind of how the tattoos started, out of this deep-seated desire to separate himself from the harshness around him--the superficial friends and hangers-on, the frivolous spending, the culture of casual sex and drugs and doing everything he could to dull the chaos, to numb himself to the life he lived and hated and couldn’t figure out how to change. 

He was fascinated with the artist’s work already; that’s why he’d invited her to have a show at his gallery. Her use of color, the way she captured the soul of her subjects in those detailed studies of eyes, her work resonated with him on a level beyond that of a gallerist appreciating a fiscally promising partner. And when she’d broached the subject of tattooing, he was intrigued. And eager. Before the show even opened, he found himself lying face-down in a pale yellow vintage dentist chair, hypnotized by the whirring of the tattoo machine, as she turned his back into her living canvas, painting broad swashes of turquoise, cerulean, lavender, and more into a masterpiece of abstraction into his flesh. 

Over his years in New York, they worked to expand that first piece, adding delicate patterns and lines, tangles of wildflowers, a virtual field guide of birds both big and small, to those abstract washes of color; from shoulder to thigh, David’s body was more illustrated than not, bright floral patterns wrapping around the curves of his thighs and his waist like kudzu encroaching on trees; celestial orbs and jewels tones capping his shoulders and spreading down and out onto his broad chest. 

It was strange, when he thought about it, that the more he covered his body in color, the more David felt like _himself_. The ink in his skin was the antithesis of his black and white armor; the way one piece moved fluidly into the next on his skin the opposite of the clearly defined boundaries he otherwise craved. 


	2. Busted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's getting close to opening day for Rose Apothecary, and Patrick learns a little more about David.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to wikiREIDia on the discord for the idea for this chapter--Patrick totally goes buffering! when he notices David's hiding something under his shirt. And thanks to the product placement from whetherwoman (that bergamot and white pepper oil needs to be an actual thing).

_Schitt's Creek, 2017_

“No, you have a sloppy mouth,” Patrick teased in a perfect deadpan, leaving David momentarily dumbfounded. They’d been working hard getting things ready for the store’s soft opening and both men were on edge; teasing David like that helped to take the edge off, just a bit. That’s all it was: teasing between two business partners who were friendly with one another, not flirting at all...even if that gentle teasing had always been Patrick’s go-to flirt maneuver. 

If you were to ask him outright, Patrick would deny it. Because, truth be told, Patrick didn’t even realize it for what it was yet. And you can’t admit you’ve got a crush on a boy to someone else if you don’t know you’ve got one. At least not in the daylight. Over the last few weeks his nights had been filled with dreams of thick dark hair, expressive eyebrows, lopsided grins; of languorous kisses and subsequent stubble-burn; of large hands, soft and strong--smelling slightly of body milk--caressing him, drawing him into a long embrace, tracing the waistband of his jeans before coming to rest at his fly...he’d been waking up hard more often than not lately, at times already sticky from a wet dream. But he’d never been that great at remembering his dreams, and besides, even if he could remember what--or who--was taking up so much space in his subconscious, dreams never meant what you thought they did. But Patrick had it bad for his brand new business partner, and one of these days he was going to figure it out. 

They both went back to their own tasks, sort and shelving and puttering about. It was getting oppressively hot as he moved around the store, lugging boxes and shifting furniture according to David’s sketches. Patrick decided to pause the manual labor for a bit, popping another button on his shirt and pushing his rolled up sleeves above his elbows. He took on last drink from the shared juice and then went to the storeroom, where he buried himself nose-deep in paperwork. 

“Oh FUCK!” David’s expletive rang out above the sound of breaking glass. Patrick rushed to the floor.

“What happened? Are you--” the rest of the question froze on his lips. Patrick’s breath caught in his mouth as he stood, utterly transfixed by what he saw. Watching. Mesmerized. 

A bottle of bergamot white pepper body oil lay shattered, partly on the table and partly at David’s feet. Patrick couldn’t really see where the oil had splattered David’s jeans, but then again, the acid-washed texture obscured that sort of thing. David’s sweater, however, wasn’t so lucky. David was so focused on getting the sweater off and surveying the damage that he didn’t notice that the fitted t-shirt underneath got caught in the hem. In his rush of anxiety about the stains, he forgot his typical modest reserve and allowed the t-shirt to rise up to reveal just a few inches of toned stomach...dark hair spreading out and down from his navel, which, given what Patrick had already seen of his business partner, was no surprise. But the colors...there was just the smallest patch of naked, bare skin at the center of his abdomen, with tendrils of green and blue and purple _ something  _ wrapping around both sides of his waist.  _ Are those flowers?  _ Patrick only had a second to wonder before David had brought his arms back down, holding the oil-stained sweater in front of him, that enticing swatch of skin once again completely obscured. 

_ David’s got a tattoo,  _ Patrick thought.  _ No, David is  _ tattooed. He remembered what one of the guys on that tattoo reality show he used to watch would say. There’s a point at which you stop counting separate tattoos and start counting the hours under the needle. If that tiny glimpse was any indication, David Rose was hiding a lot more underneath that outrageous wardrobe. Probably lots of hours. 

“Are...are you ok?” he stuttered at his obviously still distracted business partner, “did any of the glass get you?”  _ Because I would be glad to inspect any part of you for slivers of glass or cuts that need tending.  _ Patrick’s breath caught again, and he felt that familiar heat start to move through his cheeks and along the tops of his ears. This was mortifying. David may be injured and probably just ruined a sweater that cost more than a month’s rent and Patrick was thinking about taking off that t-shirt and  _ blushing _ . 

David’s voice started to do that thing where it went up half an octave a beat, “No I am clearly  _ not  _ ok. This was one of my favorite sweaters from the...” to be honest, Patrick couldn’t concentrate on what David was saying at the moment because, in true David fashion, he was gesticulating so wildly as he spoke that, once again, that fitted undershirt was riding up. Patrick couldn’t take his eyes away from that happy trail, and... _ yes, yes they  _ are _ flowers and do they go around his back? How far up do they go? How far down… _ Patrick snapped out of it, realizing that David was no longer talking, nor moving his hands, and Patrick had absolutely no idea just how long he’d been looking. 

David nervously fidgeted, looking anywhere but at Patrick, and pulled his shirt down low over his pants. “I...uh, I need to go take care of this,” he muttered, more to the floor than to Patrick, “I’ll be back.” 

Busted. 


	3. The Sky Is Falling, Chicken Little

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David is anxious and catastrophizes because he's having a bad day.

David’s cheeks burned as he attempted to make an exit that was both quick and graceful, hiding his embarrassment...he’d felt bad enough at being so clumsy that he dropped the bergamot white pepper massage oil. When you factor practically _stripping_ in front of his business partner because of a little stain on his sweater? _Not. Correct._ OK, to be fair, that oil spilled all over his hair and all the fuck down his sweater and it was probably ruined. Not to mention he probably had shards of motherfucking _glass_ in his hair. 

And, of course, that moment when he realized that Patrick was just _looking_ at him. More specifically, at his stomach. He felt the flush spread from his cheeks down his neck. There’s a reason animals protect their bellies in the wild; that’s a point of weakness. David didn’t like the idea of Patrick seeing his soft underbelly so exposed. He’d always been a bit self-conscious about his stomach, even during his days of chain-smoking and eating disorders; it was a big reason he hadn’t been able to get it tattooed yet. It felt too intimate, made him too vulnerable. He’d always joked that he’d start that section after just another month at the gym. But now, living in Schitt’s Creek, a world away from SoulCycle and regular waxes and his anxiety meds and those monthly appointments with his favorite artist, David realized it would probably never happen. 

David tried, poorly, not to let his anxiety spiral as he walked back to the motel to shower and change; he tried to gather his thoughts, think about all the things they still needed to do before the soft launch, but his brain felt like catastrophizing was somehow a better use of his energy. _How many more ways can today get fucked up?_ He was wallowing and knew it, but what could he do? The sensation of locally sourced, organic massage oil trickling down his forehead and burning a path down his cheeks ( _although he can imagine places on his body where that would be pretty nice)_ kind of lent itself to wallowing. 

David was having a no good very bad day, and he just wanted it to be over. Things had been going _so well_ before he lost a battle of wits against gravity. Patrick was teasing him. Which, hello it’s a day that ends in “y,” it’s what Patrick does. But that last conversation seemed almost flirty, didn’t it? I mean, making references to getting hard isn’t _typical_ workplace banter. It certainly shouldn’t be, anyway. But then David dropped the bottle and smashed the glass and overreacted and pretty much flashed his least erotic part of his body at Patrick and so much for flirting. If that’s even what it was, because it probably wasn’t. Even if Alexis and Stevie both thought otherwise, David was convinced there was no way that cute boy in button-downs and mid-range denim would be into him. 

David had it bad for his clean-cut, clean-mouthed business partner, and he knew he was _fucked._

He ran his hands through his hair as he stepped into the shower. That fucking oil was still _everywhere._ He felt it warm as he rubbed it between his fingers. He thought of Patrick, staring at him when he came out from the storeroom. Mouth open, forearms flexing as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets. Patrick has nice arms. He grabbed his hardening cock with an oil-slick hand, and just for the moment, imagined Patrick looking at him with the same desire David felt for him.

* * *

A couple hours later, David returned to the store in another monochrome ensemble: black and white sweater over skinny black jeans with holes in the knees. David greeted Patrick with a falsely bright “Hi,” but refused to make eye contact. Patrick responded in kind, and took advantage of the moment to look at David’s knees. Like, really _stare_ at them, those small bits of olive skin visible through David’s artfully distressed jeans. _OK,_ he thought to himself, _clearly he’s not tattooed everywhere._

Patrick noticed a spicy, citrusy scent, not David’s typical cologne, as he brushed past him en route to the storeroom. _The massage oil_ , he thought to himself, and made a mental note to take one home for himself, without stopping to think about why. 

“Feeling better now?” he asked as he followed David through the curtain. Patrick was completely oblivious to the twinkle in David’s eyes as the taller man watched him nervously shove his hands deep into his pockets. He was slightly distracted. 

“Huh? Oh...yeah, sorry about before,” David mumbled, awkwardly fluttering his hands from one opened box to another, on a quest for _something_ he couldn’t seem to find. 

“It’s no big deal, just one bottle. We’re lucky you weren’t hurt,” Patrick’s response was earnest, as was the smile that spread across his face when he glimpsed that twitch at the corner of David’s mouth, the one he made when he was trying to suppress a smile. Patrick liked it when he could make David smile. 

“I...uh..um, I did...I did have something I wanted to ask you about earlier, though,” Patrick suddenly found his feet fascinating, and struggled to glance back up.

* * *

_Oh my god._ When Patrick’s face lit up with that zillion-watt smile, David’s heart ached; it was all he could to school his face into a much more on-brand smirk. _Don’t say anything else. Just stop there_. Unfortunately, David’s Jedi powers seemed to have been limited to that weekend he spent in Banff with Hayden Christensen, because Patrick’s still talking. 

“Um, so, uh…I know it’s not any of my business…” David wanted to crawl under the desk as he thought of a hundred possible ways Patrick could be about to _earnestly_ critique David’s body. _And he’d probably think he was just being friendly,_ David couldn’t help but be bitter at the thought.

“Do you...did I see…uh, was that a tattoo?” 

_SERIOUSLY?_ OK, so maybe David tended to jump to the worst possible conclusions. Maybe the sky wasn’t actually falling, Chicken Little. 

“Oh, uh, that? Yeah,” he said, somewhat dismissively, and continued to fold alpaca throws. 

“Will...will you show it to me?” Patrick was doing that _thing_ he did, where his head was tilted down and he looked up through his lashes, half chewing on his lower lip and making David _feel_ things one shouldn’t feel for a business partner. _He has to know what he’s doing,_ he thought. _There’s no goddamn way this grown-ass man doesn’t know this is a_ dirty _move._

OK, so maybe...just maybe, there was a 3.87% chance that Patrick _was_ flirting with him. 

Here goes nothing, Rose. 

David gave Patrick a lopsided grin, raising an eyebrow suggestively, and leaned forward as he whispered. 

“You have to work harder than that to get me undressed, Mr. Brewer.”


	4. Backup. Reboot. Restart.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick's brain short circuits just a little bit. He needs to collect himself in the washroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, shoutout to [whetherwoman](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19134754) for the massage oil that needs to exist.

“You have to work harder than that to get me undressed, Mr. Brewer.” 

Patrick felt heat exploding from his chest outward. Forget the way his ears got a little red when he was embarrassed; his whole _face_ flushed, his ears burned, he could see splotches on his chest turning crimson where his shirt was unbuttoned. And all of a sudden, his jeans felt way too tight. Is it possible for the entire world to go all blue screen of death? Because it just did. Patrick’s brain went temporary offline. _Backup. Reboot. Restart. What did he just say?_

 _“You have to work harder than that to get me undressed, Mr. Brewer.”_ The words played on repeat in Patrick's brain.

“I, um…” he stammered, “OK. I’ll keep that in mind.” He offered what he hoped would pass for an easy-going, nonchalant grin, “Back to it. We’ve still got a lot that needs to get done.”

Change the subject. Pretend it didn’t happen. Run away. If you ignore something long enough, eventually it will go away. Patrick did what he was good at. It’s worked for him so far, right?

* * *

David was busy, ostensibly setting out bags of Hockley’s Joshua Tree tea—which looked an awful lot like browsing pictures of doors and birds on Instagram—when Patrick saw his chance. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but he really didn’t want David to see what he was doing; the thought of being caught made his stomach do flip-flops. Confident that David was too engrossed in his _work_ to notice, Patrick went to swipe a travel size blue bottle of that massage oil from the shelf. 

And proceeded to knock the entire shelf off the display.

_Smooth._

At least the travel bottles were made of plastic.

First ensuring nothing had spilled, he set to work reattaching what clearly must have been a defective shelf, scowling at it for surely drawing David’s attention to what he’d been doing. And no sooner had he thought of his tall and handsome business partner ( _handsome? why does that matter?_ ) than he could _feel_ him approach. The soft sound of designer sneakers shuffling over the wood floor; the hint of citrus over the spicy scent of David’s regular cologne—Patrick pockets one of the bottles as he’s putting them back on the shelf—and even without looking, Patrick could tell he had that gentle half-smirk forming on his lips.

“Let me help,” David murmured, squatting down to help Patrick collect the remaining bottles from the floor. One of those large, soft, expressive hands barely grazed Patrick’s bare forearm as they both reached for the last bottle, and…

_Backup. Reboot. Restart._

There were no mistaking or overlooking this time. Patrick was getting an erection.

_What. The. Fuck._

* * *

Patrick would later come to recognize all the beautiful things he hadn’t known he was missing until David came into his life; the overwhelming _rightness_ of how he felt about this ridiculous, beautiful man would inspire him to sing, to write music, to scream from the mountaintops. But in that moment after David’s hand brushed down his arm, that great big world of comfort and pleasure David would come to represent was a distant horizon, and fifteen years of not understanding why his relationships never felt right were distilled into a single, overpowering sensation: David Rose made his dick hard. 

“Would you mind running to the cafe? I could use some tea, and a scone? Blueberry, if they’ve got it,” Patrick was never more grateful for David’s sweet tooth than he was right then; thankfully, he was still kneeling on the floor in a way that at least _slightly_ obscured the tenting in his jeans. David practically bounced to the door at the prospect of an afternoon snack ( _it certainly couldn’t have been motivated by his own body’s reaction to seeing Patrick on his knees_ ), leaving Patrick alone to process what had just happened.

No, now was not the time to process.

Patrick rushed to the washroom and locked himself in, resting his back against the door. Shaky fingers fumbled with his belt and fly until finally, three hundred years later, he got his jeans unzipped. With a grunt, he shoved everything—belt, jeans, briefs damp with precum—down just low enough on his hips to free his straining dick and balls. He brought his right palm up to his mouth for a quick, messy lick, and then grabbed his cock and squeezed, causing his hips to jerk involuntarily, jarring the contents of his front pocket and causing them clatter to the floor.

Patrick bent to pick up the bottle rolling in a circle at his feet. Bergamot white pepper massage oil. He flipped the cap open and started to pour a small amount—scratch that, the tiny bottle kind of exploded into his palm and dripped between his fingers. _That’s a problem for future Patrick_ , he mused. He wrapped his citrus-spiced fist around his aching cock, moaning as he felt the oil warming on his skin, and began to thrust into the slickness. He brought his left hand down to cup his balls, wrapping his thumb and forefinger around the base of his shaft. He squeezed the root of his cock and tugged at his balls, gently at first, becoming more forceful as his other hand found a quick rhythm sliding up and down as he jerked himself off.

Patrick leant his head back against the door, fucking his fist with the desperation of a horny teenager trying to beat the clock before his parents barge in. He squeezed his eyes shut and let himself think of David.

 _You have to work harder than that to get me undressed, Mr. Brewer…_ oh god oh god yes he wanted that to happen. He wanted to tear that bulky sweater off and nuzzle his face into David’s chest hair. He wanted to reach down into David’s skirt or pants or whatever the hell they are and wrap his hand around David’s dick. He wanted to drag his tongue all along that tattoo David was hiding. He wanted to kiss and lick every single part of David’s body, taste him all over, make the man scream out his name. He wanted to spread his cheeks and slide his cock into David’s ass and pound him until they both exploded. He wanted it all. He wanted _David_. In a way that he had never wanted anyone before. Patrick _wanted._

“Oh fuck…please… _David,”_ he pleaded to the absent object of his fantasy as he felt himself hurtling toward climax. The intensity of his orgasm surprised him; for a moment or an eternity his vision was shaky, patches of purples and blues fading into sparkling dots of black and white as his cock spasmed and shot ribbons of cum in an arc toward the ceiling before splattering down onto the floor, his left shoe, the edge of the sink. For a minute afterward, he just stood there panting, completely undone by what he’d just experienced, the smell of sex and sweat and bergamot almost suffocating in the small washroom.

But Patrick couldn’t let himself bask in the afterglow of one of the most intense orgasms of his life; he had to pull himself together. David would be back any minute.

_David._

His business partner.

The one he’d just imagined fucking as he got himself off. At work.

Oh my god.

_Backup. Reboot. Restart._

Patrick didn’t have time to process right now. And, in his experience, if you ignore something long enough, eventually it will go away. Patrick did what he was good at. He cleaned himself up as best he could, mopped up the oil that spilled on the floor; splashed some water on his face, and walked out, just in time to see David crossing the street on his way back to the store.

“They didn't have blueberry, so I got you cinnamon spice,” David apologized, “I hope that’s ok.”

“That works for me. I like spicy stuff,” he quipped with a bashful grin, “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” replied David, seeming a bit distracted. His brows furrowed as he made a quick scan of the shop, “Do you smell that? I think we may have missed some of that massage oil.”

Patrick’s ears went red. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the encouragement everyone! This one is shaping up to be longer than I realized, so buckle up. Eventually we'll get to the tattoo part.


	5. Anticipa....tion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of fluff to get the boys closer to the Big Reveal. And, you know, other big things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your comments, everyone. I've got some fun ideas coming up, but there's always the matter of getting from here to there. So have a little piece of fluff and feelings. Thanks to the chats on discord for making me laugh and wonder just what Patrick needs to do for David's flirtometer to go above 50%.

The final week before Rose Apothecary opened passed in a blur. David and Patrick spent long hours finalizing displays, setting up the inventory management system, handling last-minute change-ups from vendors, and ramping up the teasing banter. Sadly, nothing had come of his brazen challenge that day Patrick had asked about his tattoos; well, nothing outside those few moments of watching that adorable man squirm and blush. But David was happy even if the MPAA rating of their teasing hadn’t increased. There was an ease to their conversations that David had never experienced; though similar to the rapid-fire pace of his banter with Stevie, David’s interactions with Patrick were softer, more light-hearted. Making Patrick laugh became one of David’s favorite things to do. Though he smiled much more readily than David, he had this adorable way of trying to hold back the grin when he was about to laugh. The corners of his eyes would crinkle, lips tightening up until the laugh spilled out, pouring from his eyes out through his whole body, smile wide, shoulders shaking until he would lean onto his forearms, resting his head on his hands as his whole body shook with glee. Yes, those laughs were David's favorites. 

As exhausting as those days were, David found himself waking before his alarm, excited to spend the day working side by side with Patrick. But those long days alone with Patrick were about more than just a crush. Together, they were building something substantial, something untouched by the privilege of his past or the misguided interventions of his parents. David was excited to create something _real_ without relying on his name or connections to make it happen, his confidence bolstered by a savvy business partner who truly believed in David’s vision. He felt like he he could be on the cusp of _something_ special, and was proud of what he was building with Patrick.

That there was maybe even a 11.6% possibility that this sexy as fuck button-up cute boy in straight-leg jeans was flirting with him as they went along? That was the hand-churned Amish buttercream icing on the chocolate ganache cake.

* * *

For Patrick, the week’s excitement took on a much different shape, but was equally as intense. The day he jerked off in the bathroom, he left work utterly mortified and confused.He had never felt that out of control before, even at his teenage horniest; to be honest, he’d rarely ever felt the need to masturbate, let alone need to rub one out at work. Alone in his room that night, he started replaying the events of the day in his head; flushing as he remembered what he’d imagined as he touched himself. As he ran through his mental highlight reel, the intense need returned with a vengeance, making him wish he hadn’t spilled the entire contents of that little blue bottle at the store. _I can get more tomorrow_ , he thought, and then licked his palm and went for round two. Shortly after, he crashed hard and dreamt of big, soft hands and flower tattoos. 

Patrick awoke even earlier than usual the next morning, his head full of questions like _what if?_ and _why not?_ and _what next?_ and, most importantly, _why did it take so long?_ He grabbed a couple protein bars and threw a hoodie over his gym clothes; and as he hit the road for his normal morning at the gym, he turned left toward a local trailhead instead. Patrick watched the sunrise over Schitt’s Creek from his perch on a limestone overlook and thought about how his life was about to change. He _knew_ he was on the cusp of something special.

* * *

The nervous anticipation that characterized the weeks before opening morphed into the nonstop motion of their soft (semi-firm, certainly not _hard_ ) launch that soon settled into the comfortable routine that would become their new status quo. Patrick would arrive early each day to prepare for opening, and then hold down the fort until David finally made an appearance. On a good day, he’d roll in fifteen minutes after they opened; usually it was more like an hour. So Patrick got used to quiet mornings alone before opening. Patrick dedicated those morning hours to the business stuff that made David’s eyes glaze over, tasks that required more concentration than he could get at Ray’s in the evenings, so it actually worked out quite well. And if it happened to leave him more time after-hours to find ways to prolong closing up with David? Well, that was just an added bonus. 

Patrick logged countless early morning hours on the trails at Rattlesnake Point, at first coming to terms with how he felt about David—and, by extension, seeing the scattered pieces of his life finally start to come together—and then just trying to figure out how to act on his feelings. Though he prided himself on being a take charge kind of guy, romance wasn’t exactly Patrick’s forte. This was a big first for Patrick in so many ways. Yes, he’d done the friends to lovers thing before, but it had been rote, mechanical; his one serious relationship—a decade of on-again, off-again from high school sweethearts to broken engagement—left Patrick feeling like he was trying to paint by numbers, only nobody had bothered to number the paints. Like he knew all the pieces were there for something beautiful, but he didn’t know how to make them all come together.

With his ex, he’d always just sort of followed her lead, done what she’d wanted him to do, from the very start. “You want to ask me out, don’t you,” Rachel had teased him after a baseball game, and, well, they had fun joking and laughing together and she _was_ pretty, and he couldn’t think of a reason _not_ to, so he’d just rolled with it. And he kept rolling with it as she lead him through so many firsts—kisses and hand jobs and “I love you’s” and breakups and makeups and even his first proposal. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy the ride; it’s not that he didn’t love her and want to do those things with her. He did, he _had;_ well, he had _wanted_ to want them with her, because that’s how everything was supposed to work. It had just been so exhausting. Did other couples have to work _so hard_? Did they still find themselves wondering why nothing felt right? Patrick just didn’t understand why he and Rachel hadn’t fit, why everything had always taken so much effort. Until David. Patrick had never _wanted_ anyone as intensely or completely as he wanted David Rose. It left him breathless, giddy, and yes, for the first time in his life, _horny_ all the goddamn time. 

Patrick bought the large bottle of body oil. And paid for it with cash, just in case David ever happened to check the books. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr and discord as olivebranchesandredwine.


	6. If you think about the game then you lose the game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick enlists Stevie's help to learn more about what David's hiding under his sweaters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's longer y'all, because of feelings and Stevie and sassy, horny, drunk Patrick. Title from "Road Again" by Noah Reid. Unbetaed because I'm just like that.

_You have to work harder than that to get me undressed, Mr. Brewer._

Patrick thought about what David said that day a lot. A lot a lot. He thought about it when he was standing at the counter where David had leaned in close and spoken the words, _sotto voce,_ and made Patrick’s brain melt. He thought about it when he restocked the personal care shelves where David had touched him; sometimes he thought about it in the washroom so intensely that he had to think of baseball in a semi-futile attempt to control the flush that spread across his face. He thought about it in the shower, quietly lathering up and pumping with a strangled urgency before Ray woke in the morning; those nights when Ray was gone for poker or conferences or whatever the hell else he had to do, Patrick would slow down, oil up, and really _let himself think about it_ until he was spent and needed to change the sheets.

Beyond that, he made lists and planned…ok, more like fantasized than planned, because the top tier of his to-do list scared the shit out of Patrick:

Make David Rose fall in love with me (How exactly? Break down into more manageable tasks)

    * Tell David how I feel ~~(get us both drunk~~? bad idea)
    * Kiss David (See above re: How)
    * Get David naked (How?)



He was still too damn nervous to actually make a move. In what possible universe could someone like David Rose be interested in an ordinary guy like him? And, yeah, there’s the whole _never made the first move_ _in his life_ to factor in. So Patrick decided to tackle this crush the same way he’d handled the Apothecary’s small business grants, the same way he’d approached any major project in his life. Break the big scary thing down into more manageable chunks, create timelines and action plans and follow the schedule to make it happen. He mapped out Project David with the same attention to detail he showed any major undertaking, all the way down to the color-coded Gantt chart.

The game was borne out of a combination of this tendency to micromanage, Patrick’s inability to just tell David how he felt, and a probably ill-advised attempt to milk Stevie for information about her best friend/former hookup. Even though he knew that whatever happened between Stevie and David was a thing of the past, Patrick couldn’t help but envy that she’d already gotten what he could only dream about, experienced David all over her body, inside her, felt his mouth and hands and cock, while he was left to imagine what could be from suggestive banter, one lingering hug, a few errant touches. He so desperately longed for what she had already gotten to have that it hurt. But emotions aside, Patrick was nothing if not methodical: he ventured that David’s best friend might be able to help him cross a few items off his Project David agenda.

Stevie had dropped by while David was out with vendors to pick up a full-sized Carrot Milk and Honey shampoo bar. Patrick guessed it must have been included in the little sample set David made up for her when he was finalizing inventory selections. As he rang up her purchase, she leaned in, conspiratorially, “Don’t let him know how much I like this stuff. I hate when he’s right."

Patrick chuckled, seeing his chance and taking advantage of it.

“Wanna drink?” not waiting for an answer as he disappeared behind the curtain. He returned, carrying two glasses and a bottle of Jack to the counter. “Can I ask you a question?” Patrick held out a glass of whiskey as he spoke, waiting for Stevie to drop her bag and sit on the chair she’d just pulled over from the back of the store.

“Yup. That was it,” she deadpanned, taking the glass and drinking the entirety in one gulp.

“Seriously, Stevie. It’s…” he caught himself starting to do that whole looking down at his feet move he did when he was feeling nervous and knew Stevie would definitely give him shit about it, so he willed himself to look back up. He focused on her eyebrows to give the illusion of eye contact, a trick he’d learned to do in a public speaking class, as he continued, “It’s about David. I wanted to ask you something.”

“I think that’s been established. What’s your question, Patrick?” She looked up at him with eyes twinkling and a hint of teasing in her voice.

“Has David ever talked to you about tattoos?”

* * *

Stevie schooled her expression into one of faux sincerity when Patrick started prodding. _Oh, this is going to be good._ David was so flustered when she needled him about Patrick that night he slept over; she could tell he had it bad for his button-down business partner. And now this _?_ The boy is a human-sized puppy with heart eyes emoji. " _I don’t know what his preferences are,” my ass._ If she weren’t such a cynical motherfucker, the lovesick antics of these two besotted idiots might make her teary-eyed. 

“Tattoos? You thinking of getting a tattoo?” she played dumb, because, schoolboy crush or not, it’s not her place to share something her best friend plays so close to his chest. Stevie knows Patrick's fishing, and she's not going to take the bait. _Yup, there it is, he’s blushing._

“No…uh, I just—the other day…well, I thought I saw his tattoo, and um….” From the way the boy was stuttering, Stevie had to wonder just what tattoo he thought he saw. Even though they’d both been busy with work lately, Stevie was pretty certain David would’ve told her if he accidentally mooned the boy he’s crushing on.

“And?” As Stevie tried to coax the _question_ part of Patrick’s question out of him, watching him turn all sorts of crimson and look at everything in the store that wasn’t her, she could understand why Alexis had taken to calling David’s new business partner Button Face. He turned into a bashful little button just _thinking_ about David, which, Stevie had to admit, was cute, if a bit nauseating.

“And…I was just curious if you knew what it was, what the story was with it,” he spoke more to his empty glass than to her.

Stevie walked over to the counter and poured herself another drink before responding with a question, “Have you considered asking _David_ that?” One, she was enjoying watching Patrick squirm, and two? Not her story to tell. Besides, to be honest, neither she nor David had attempted to broach that conversation that night in the honeymoon suite when there were much more pressing needs to attend to. “Discuss who had which tattoo where” had been pretty low on the list of things to do behind “get off as many times in as many ways as possible.” She vaguely remembers biting into some kind of bird near his shoulder; he scratched some pretty impressive marks down pin-up girls on her thighs. And why did there have to be a story or meaning behind them anyway? Just like sex, Stevie thought. You want it? Go get it.Not everything needs to be a grand, meaningful gesture.

“He wouldn’t tell me,” Patrick ducked his head again, blushing again at the memory of David’s reaction, before continuing, “he said I’d need to work hard to get the information out of him.”

“Then what are you gonna do?” the twinkle was back in Stevie’s eyes, the corners of her mouth creeping up into a wicked grin. She’d never break David’s confidence, but she’d jump at any chance to fuck with him. Especially if it meant getting these two thirsty dopes together.

* * *

David didn’t understand the rules of the game. David didn’t realize it was a game, really. Because to recognize Stevie and Patrick’s game would have required David to accept Patrick’s gentle teasing and joking for what it was. And David just could not bring himself to accept that Patrick was interested in him.

In David’s defense, he had no logical reason to believe that a business major who lived in mid-range denim would be in to him. Not sober, not in the daylight, at any rate. Nights had been a different story. Straight boys loved David at night. On his knees in seedy bathrooms, drunken hands seeking out the sensation of their cock through his stubbled cheeks. Bending him over the countertop, the table, whatever, wherever…careless for his comfort or pleasure as they sought, hard and fast, to get deeper into David’s body, and all its seductive, taboo heat. Sharing him with the wife, the girlfriend, jealously listening to her voice wordless, desperatepleasure as David buried his face between her thighs—jealous of how David’s mouth was tearing her apart, jealous that David’s mouth wasn’t doing that to him—angrily, violently fucking him into the mattress in a vengeance and lust-fueled frenzy.

Addendum…straight boys loved David’s _body_ at night.

But Patrick wasn’t that kind of straight boy. He was funny and _nice_ and joked around with David and would sometimes _blush_ when David joked back and that one time after the launch party held David close in a hug that lasted _seven whole seconds_ which doesn’t seem like a lot until your button-up business partner has his fingers splayed out across your back and his chin tucked into the crook of your neck and you can feel his cheek against yours…David would never forgive himself for not calling the electrician because sometimes he thought about what could have happened if those goddamn lights hadn’t flickered. OK, so maybe there was a 15.4% chance Patrick was into him?

Even still, David didn’t figure out that Patrick and Stevie were up to something until way later than he probably should’ve, especially given Stevie’s new habit of stopping by the store in the morning before David got to work. His own penchant for catastrophizing, however, afforded him a much more reasonable explanation for Stevie and Patrick’s budding friendship—clearly, Patrick was smitten with her. He’d not been interested in Alexis, after all; he must have had a thing for doe-eyed women with biting wit and a thing for oversized flannel. _And who could blame him,_ David thought to himself, _I did, too._ Despite the pang of jealousy, David reminded himself that Stevie wouldn’t hurt him like that. It warmed his heart to realize that he trusted Stevie completely.This wasn’t like their game of Random Bingo at the Wobbly Elm where they’d compete to see which of them could get the night’s target to get them off in the bathroom. This was Patrick, and Stevie knew that David cared about him. He trusted her not to break his heart. If only he could feel that way about his straight business partner.

* * *

Stevie’s game had started simply, with Patrick and Stevie getting stupid drunk waiting for David to get back to the shop that evening. 

“Are you out of that special tea?” Stevie pawed through the products on the table across from the counter, searching out the Hockley’s Tea that had been such a hit on opening weekend. 

“Yep. Roland came back and bought up all that was left after we launched,” Patrick lamented, at the moment regretting their prudent business decision to clear up whatever miscommunication had led Mr. Hockley to think it was ok to sell weed on consignment in a branded immersive experience. 

“Anyone with a fiber of common sense would’ve just marked it up 200% and kept stocking it,” Stevie snorted. The evening had turned to the laughing about David part of the festivities, their favorite shared activity.

“It’s _milk_ …for your _BODY_ ,” Patrick held up a bottle of body milk in one hand, waving the other up and down his body and rolling his hips, doing his best impression of a flustered David, leading Stevie to laugh so hard she missed the chair as she tried to sit down. Ever the gentleman, Patrick offered a hand to help her up before doubling over in a fit of giggles and losing his hold; Stevie landed on her ass with a loud _harumph._ “I think we need another round,” she huffed as she reached up to the counter to pull herself to stand. Patrick obliged, and headed behind the curtain to see what else they had to drink.

As soon as he disappeared behind the curtain, drunken matchmaker Stevie immediately set to work. The idea had come to her as she made a mess of the front table in her search for the weed tea. David’s so meticulous; everything has to be _just right._ If Patrick wants to get under his skin ( _ok, under his sweater_ ) he’s going to need to get David preoccupied. She clumsily grabbed for one of those weird cat hair scarves, balled it up, and tossed it toward the tote bagsartfully arranged on the highest shelves in the store. _Bullseye_ , she thought to herself as the scarf ball made contact, knocking one bag onto its side and smushing two others out of place.

Now, to sit back and watch the drama unfold. 

* * *

David’s brow furrowed at the sight of Rose Apothecary lit up against the darkening sky. Why is Patrick still here, he wondered, as he pulled the Rose family Lincoln next to Patrick’s Hyundai in the back of the building. He slung his day bag over his arm, grabbed a box of body milk from the back seat, and approached the delivery entrance, grateful to realize that it was unlocked when he pressed his shoulder against the door. As he artlessly maneuvered himself and his load through the door, David was greeted by raucous laughter coming from the front of the building. _Patrick,_ his heart leapt to his throat at the sound of his partner giggling about _something,_ only to immediately fall down into his feet as he recognized his best friend’s trademark drunken _snort. What’s Stevie doing here?_ In no universe could this be a good thing. Even if he trusted Stevie not to lead Patrick on, he did _not_ trust these two to be alone and _laughing_ without it somehow being at his expense. For the first time maybe in the history of his life, David was thankful he had manual labor to complete. He still had a trunkful of products t o unload, so he set about finishing his task to avoid dealing with whatever those two were so amused about. 

“It’s _milk_ …for your _BODY_ ,” David rolled his eyes as heard Patrick cackle, followed by a some kind of crash. _Not my finest moment_ , he thought back to the unfortunate shower cap incident when Alexis had lice. He took a moment ( _ok, fine, a few minute_ s) to compose himself and walked into the front room.

“I’m so glad the two of you have found something to bond over,” he snipped, eyeing the empty whiskey bottle on the counter, “Thanks so much for that.” Stevie sat cross-legged on her chair, giggling into her empty glass. “You’re so very welcome,” she quipped.

“That was the last of the whiskey. We’ve got a couple bottles of wine left. Red or white?” Patrick’s voiced echoed from the doorway behind the cash. “I’m good with either. You pick,” Stevie replied.

“I’ve always been more of red kind of guy,” Patrick emerged from the store room with a bottle of shiraz and an opener. “Oh, David. You’re back!” He grinned a zillion watt smile as he noticed David sitting on the table next to a display of facial serums. Patrick busied himself with finding a glass for David before opening the bottle, utterly oblivious to the heated, silent exchange happening between the other two as he went about his task.

Stevie’s eyes twinkled and her shoulders shook in silent amusement as she watched David’s face journey through about three hundred emotions in the span of 2 seconds, ending with his nose wrinkled and mouth curled up in disgust, looking like the human equivalent of a cat making sniffy face. He gave his head a shake, rolled his eyes, and gave a dramatic, full-body shrug in response to her glee before hopping down from the table.

Patrick passed full glasses around and held his up, “To…um, something about business, _”_ he offered, then brought his glass to his lips and threw his head back, taking an inadvisably big gulp of a vintage meant to be savored. “Um…I think’m drunk,” giggling as he let his upper body collapse onto the counter. Stevie nodded so vehemently in response that she lost her balance. She uncrossed her legs and slammed a foot to the floor, catching herself before she fell off the chair for a second time. David sauntered to the counter, “And I think you’re cut off,” he replied, taking Patrick’s not-quite empty glass from his hand and dumping the contents into his own. “Yer no fun, David,” Patrick grumped, fumbling to reach for his glass, but instead grabbing hold of the taller man’s wrist. David jerked back at the unexpected touch, leaving Patrick to rest his chin on his hands. He looked up at David with such gooey, puppy-dog eyes that it made David’s breath catch.

“Oh, by the way David,” Stevie pointed to the shelf, “some of those bags got knocked over and neither of us can reach to straighten them up.”

“Oh. My. God,” David waved his arms in frustration, “you are a fucking troll.” The corners of her mouth quivered as she tried to suppress a smile, eyes alight with mischief. David’s face took another rapid journey through various points of irritation as he glared down at her before stalking over to restore order to the mess they’d made of the Reiki-infused artisanal straw and leather shoulder bags.

“How the _fuck_ …” David spoke more to the wall than to either of the drunk idiots responsible for the mess, shaking his head in irritation. It had been a _long_ fucking day. He pulled one of Jake’s footstools up to the shelves (He may be a douche, he thought to himself, but his pieces are beautiful) and climbed up, hoping it would be enough of a boost. The ladder was a pain in the ass to maneuver from the back of store on a good day; no telling how it would work with drunk Patrick as his assistant. Drunk Patrick is an unknown quantity for David, but he has to admit, he doesn’t hate that soft look in Patrick’s eyes, or the way he held on to David’s wrist. Maybe drunk Patrick is handsy…which is a totally inappropriate thing to wonder about your straight business partner, David reminded himself.

David held on to the shelf at shoulder height and raised up on tip-toe…almost….his fingers scrabbling for contact with one of the tipped over bags… _there!_ It took some fumbling, but he was eventually able to wiggle the three bags back into their proper places. _How the fuck did this scarf get up here?_

* * *

Stevie slipped out of her chair to stand opposite Patrick at the counter. “Pay attention, Brewer. Game’s starting,” she smirked, nodding her head toward David. “I accept payment in the form of red wine and that sriracha tapenade.” Patrick, however, was only vaguely aware of Stevie speaking to him because his eyes were currently zeroed in on David straining to reach some bags that had fallen down on the top shelf. _When did that happen? T_ he question bubbled up in a small part of his brain but couldn’t get much purchase. 

Patrick’s mind was otherwise occupied. 

As David strained to maneuver one of the bags back into its proper diagonal position, his abnormally snug sweatshirt (black with some word that Patrick just couldn’t seem to remember printed in white across his chest) rode up off his hips. Patrick could feel his mouth water as his gaze traveled up and down David’s body…David’s skinny jeans hugged his legs in so many delicious places, showing off the curves of his calves and thighs, and _that ass._ Buzzed from the whiskey, Patrick had already let his guard down, allowing himself to grope for David’s hand (and miss); now, when presented with the chance to ogle a cute boy’s ass, _David’s_ ass, he just couldn’t remember any possible reason that he shouldn’t. His dick filled and strained against his fly as he stood there and watched David work. _Oh god_ , watching David’s muscles flex and relax… Patrick wanted to grab onto that ass with both hands, squeezing until he left marks…rip those jeans down so he could bite into it, soothe the bites with his lips and tongue…spread his cheeks open and run his tongue from David’s balls to his pink hole; he wanted totaste him, lick and probe David with fingers and tongue… He wanted to feel as much of himself inside David as possible. Patrick had never _wanted_ so intently in his whole life, and he wanted David in every way possible. _Oh fuck_ , he wanted to bury his cock inside that perfect ass until he came and then clean out his hole with his tongue.

Stevie cleared her throat and gave him a strange look and he realized maybe he’d said that last part out loud. Drunk Patrick was mouthy. “OK there, slugger,” Stevie gave him sly grin, “I was talking about his back ink, but you do you.” Patrick felt a flush rise from his chest and spread, but at this point it was only about 30% embarrassment about what he may have just said to Stevie and 70% wanting to fuck David into the wall.

Oh yeah, David up on the shelf. Patrick allowed his gaze to move up David’s body, and again his breath caught in his throat as he took in the view—several inches of David’s bare back, covered in ornate, water-color wisteria vines and song birds—and he wanted to put his mouth on every single bit.

Patrick pressed the heel of his hand against his aching, clothed erection, oblivious to how Stevie had to quickly turn her head to somewhere else as he did. He was going to have to take care of this problem soon, but honestly that’s something for future Patrick to worry about because present Patrick was drunk and horny and probably not making the most reasonable of decisions. Because drunk Patrick was mouthy and sassy and had lost his filter three shots ago. 

“D’ya like flowers, David? I like flowers like…uhh… _roses_ are my _favorites_ of course (Stevie stifled a chuckle at that) and I also love those ones that are purple and on vines what are they? You know the ones on yer back tattoo? I like those a lot they’re my favorites too but I really wanna see how far those flowers go down onto your ass,” Patrick grinned dopily, chin resting on his hands, as David spun around, still processing the word salad that had just sputtered out of that cute, drunk button’s mouth. “How hard do I hafta work for you to show me your ass, David?”

* * *

That went….differently than she’d intended. Patrick’s drunken brazenness caught her off guard. _And David,_ Stevie chuckled, glancing down at the photo she’d snuck of him, mouth gaping, after Patrick flat out asked to see his ass. She’d just wanted to encourage Patrick to be a bit more creative in how he went about discovering David’s colorful little secret. 

_Game on,_ Stevie thought. _This is gonna be fun._


	7. The Wrath of Grapes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hangover Patrick catastrophizes in the wake of Drunk Patrick's sass mouth. Lots of angst and panic that make Patrick buffer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Patrick gets panicky here, so trigger warning for that. And for waking up hungover and remembering something stupid you've done while drunk. Title from Dorothy Parker, "A hangover is the wrath of grapes."

Hangovers suck.

Patrick woke up to the sound of his own heartbeat pulsing at at least 400 decibels right behind the eyes he couldn’t bring himself to open; his whole body ached; his skin crawled; his mouth felt like he’d taken an open-mouthed dive into the Sahara. The cacophony of Ray clanging dishes around downstairs rattled his brain, had him wishing he could retreat back into the comfort of sleep.

 _Open your eyes, Brewer_ , he willed himself to make something happen.

Everything got worse. The room spun around him as his body was slammed with sensory overload—the morning light too bright, the ambient noise of his shared house too loud; the smell of the eggs Ray was cooking downstairs….all of a sudden, his room was too hot. He pushed and kicked at the covers, damp from the sweat still shining all over his body. Patrick stumbled out of bed and staggered across the hall, just in time for whatever was left in his stomach to make its violent exit.

Hangovers suck so much.

Patrick propped himself up against the tub, appreciating the stillness of the tile beneath him as the walls spun, closing in around him. Patrick rested his head on the top of the tub, soothed by the cool porcelain against the back of his neck; he let his eyes flutter closed. He sat there and .he waited for his stomach to settle, for the vertigo to dissipate.

Patrick sat there and he waited for the tightness in his chest and in the pit of his stomach to go away. He focused on breathing to try and drown out the sensory overload, wishing he could retreat into a cocoon, safe and dark and cool and quiet and alone.

_Breathe in._

_1\. 2. 3. 4._

_Breathe out._

_1\. 2. 3. 4._

Hangovers when your brain doesn’t even give you the luxury of blacking out the night before suck the worst.

Patrick remembered everything from the previous night in pretty excruciating, technicolor detail. How his beautiful business partner with such a tight ass had to _cut him off_ because he was drunk in his place of business…what he’d said to Stevie about David… _oh my god,_ what he’d _actually said_ to David…how they’d pretty much had to lead him like a puppy to David’s car to drive him to Ray’s. Patrick wanted the ground to open up and let him crawl inside so he could live out the rest of his days, trying to forget how he showed his metaphorical ass ( _really, Brewer? That’s the metaphor your brain had to go with?_ ) to the boy he liked who was also his business partner and _oh my god what if David decides to dissolve the partnership because in what universe was what I said NOT sexual harassment in the workplace?_ Patrick stacked his forearms on his knees and brought his clammy forehead down to rest on his bare arms.

He could feel the panic flaring up, a hot vise gripping him from within from the pit of his belly up into his chest, his heart pounding such a tattoo it felt like it was going to break through his sternum, his breath ragged as he struggled to get more oxygen into his lungs.

_Breathe in._

_1\. 2. 3. 4._

_Breathe out._

_1\. 2. 3. 4._

Eventually, Patrick felt his body responding to the deliberate breaths; at least he felt it would be safe to pick himself up off the washroom floor, taking tentative steps back toward his bedroom. The world wasn’t spinning quite as violently as it had been before, but everything was still _too much._ The sights and sounds and smells of regular everyday life were bombarding his brain to the point of sensory overload. Though didn’t have the time to spare, Patrick couldn’t resist the welcoming softness of his bed. He lay down, just for a moment, to rest, allowing his lids to flutter shut. 

_Breathe in._

_1\. 2. 3. 4._

_Breathe out._

_1\. 2. 3. 4._

_Oh shit,_ his eyes shot open as nebulous half-thoughts and anxious whispers that had been floating around his mind finally solidified into realization. He woke up in his boxers. _When did I take off my clothes?_ Did everything just get even worse? Approximately 273 scenarios ran through his head at once, none of them at all reassuring, and none even close to the endearing reality of David, full of fondness and in full on nurturing mode, making sure he got to bed safe and comfy. 

_Backup. Reboot. Restart._

Patrick’s brain went temporarily offline. Too. Much. Information. Cannot Process.

_Buffering._

He could feel the panic start bubbling up, but now was not the time. He needed to get to work. He needed to see what he needed to do to salvage his relationship with his business partner. _Put the rest in a box and lock it up, Brewer._ If you ignore something long enough, eventually it will go away. Patrick did what he was good at. It’s worked for him so far, right?

* * *

Patrick showered and dressed quickly, doing all he could to ignore the pounding headache and lingering dizziness, and despite the rough start, was still on track to get to the store just before opening, if he walked quickly. Granted, that’s like 2 hours later than his usual arrival time, so everything still felt rushed and he couldn’t even let David know because he couldn’t find his goddamn phone and he was about to fall into another panic spiral when it finally occurred to him that he could try Find My Phone; he opened the site on his laptop and set the phone to ping. 

Ping. The sound rang out from the corner of the room, where he noticed something on the chair - the shirt and pants he wore to work yesterday were folded neatly, one stacked on top of the other. Sober and focused Patrick couldn't have been that meticulous; there's no way in hell he could've done it last night. 

_Lock it up._

The ping rang out again, louder, as he realized it was coming from the neatly folded stack of clothes. He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his phone. 

His home screen showed a message from David. Patrick just stared at the screen, unsure whether he wanted his eyes to cross and turn the words on the screen into an unreadable Magic Eye image, or if he wanted to force his hungover eyes to focus quicker. As long as he didn’t read it, he can pretend nothing happened, right?

 _Come on, Brewer. You can do this._ He squinted his eyes, as if looking through his pale lashes would somehow protect him from whatever bad news he might see, and glanced back down at the screen.

**David Rose [10:48pm]** _n case u forget—your keys are by your front door and your car is at the shop. text if you need a ride to work._

**David Rose [10:49pm]** _and don’t worry I'll open in the morning. think you’ll prob want to sleep in._

**David Rose [10:49pm]** _sleep well, patrick_

Patrick let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and fell back onto the bed.

_I’ll deal with it later._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for leaving Patrick hanging, y'all, but this is the most natural stopping point between what's happened so far and canonically good stuff coming up at the end of season 3.


	8. Like cyanide in my styrofoam cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short little angsty drabble; it's David's turn to overthink about last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Frank Ocean, "Bad Religion"
> 
> Don't let Patrick get drunk, kids; it creates lots of morning-after angst.

Clear boundaries.   
Defined edges.   
Black and white.

David _needs_ for things to fit into their proper places; needs boundaries that are firm, lines that are clearly defined. What happened last night was none of the above. Last night, the boundary between black and white dissolved into a roiling, messy puddle of gray.

Last night, Patrick was _definitely_ hitting on him, pawing at him, throwing his own challenge from weeks before back into David’s face, looking at him _like that_ …David’s cheeks flushed just thinking about the way Patrick had looked at him. As they’d ambled up the stairs to Patrick’s room at Ray’s, his eyes all hunger and possibilities and naked desire—it had taken every iota of David’s willpower to resist. David tried not to think about the way Patrick’s hands had wandered, one hand rubbing down his back, fingertips straying down to rest inside the back pocket of David’s skinny jeans as the other wrapped loosely around his hips, toned forearm grazing his fly invitingly. It would have been so easy to lean in to it, to let his lips brush against Patrick’s, to press him up against the wall, to let him feel just how much David wanted him. So easy to give in to the sensation of Patrick’s body against his, to dive headfirst into the feeling of Patrick _wanting him back_ , if only for the night. 

Addendum…last night, _drunk_ Patrick was definitely hitting on him. And the thought of it winded David like he’d been punched in the gut.

This was David’s wheelhouse. Button-up straight boy seeking to satisfy his curiosity with David’s mouth, his ass, hands, his cock. The straight boy lubricating himself with enough booze or pills or whatever to give himself that out. “ _No homo,_ I was so _fucked up_ when I fucked him” he’d tell himself the first time, and and the second…maybe even the fifth or tenth, whenever he felt the need to stick his dick into some part of David he’d convince himself of whatever he needed to believe. The kind of straight boy that wanted to fuck David under the cover of night and went back to the repressed comfort of heterosexuality in the light of day.

David wanted Patrick desperately, but he wouldn’t fall into that trap again. He couldn’t bear to be Patrick’s dirty little secret. He wouldn’t…he _couldn’t_ do that with his business partner. There was too much at stake. This time, he had too much to lose. Which is why he’d left Patrick’s drunken advances unacknowledged; why he’d simply picked up and folded the clothes awkwardly flung in his direction; why he’d wordlessly guided his business partner—alone—into bed, loosely tucking the covers around him; why he’d rummaged around a strange kitchen in the dark so that he could leave a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the nightstand.

He already knew Patrick was going to break his heart. Best to start damage control before it got any worse. It had to be easier to get over something you never had, right?

* * *

David arrived to work 15 minutes before it opened, a new record for him. He set about readying the shop for opening, putting out produce and ensuring that products were replenished and in meticulous order. Maybe if he kept his hands busy enough, he could convince his brain to shut off for a while...just a little bit, just enough to shake the sense that everything was about to fall apart. 

_I’m not ready to deal with this._


	9. Ignore it long enough, and it'll go away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's face it. They're not that great at talking about stuff that's difficult. Last bit of angsty drabble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is in sight, y'all. Stay tuned. And thanks for all the awesome comments.

Clear and open communication is the cornerstone of any successful relationship, business or personal. Patrick knows this. It is not his strong suit. 

That horrific Morning After—technically afternoon, since he’d passed back out and woken well past noon after seeing David’s messages—Patrick had every intention of addressing his inappropriate behavior and apologizing once they closed.

It didn’t happen. They were absolutely slammed from the time Patrick arrived to closing, which made Patrick feel even worse about the whole situation. _Just another way I let David down,_ he couldn’t help but think as he arrived to find David juggling multiple customers, checking one out as he responded others’ questions. Patrick slid quickly into the routine they’d perfected over the past couple weeks, taking his place behind the register, freeing David to work his magic on the floor, charming customers with his passion and knowledge, upselling them as he went along. Patrick marveled at just how happily David interacted with their clientele, especially given his somewhat bristly demeanor. It was just one of the things that made David so damn attractive.

 _Stop it, Brewer,_ Patrick felt himself starting to go all gooey, and knew he needed to snap out of it. _Keep it professional._

“Has it been like this all day?” he asked as he finished ringing up Gwen’s bath salts, glancing over to where David was replenishing the display.

“Pretty much,” David barely lifted his gaze from his task as he responded, but it was enough for Patrick to notice just how harried his normally polished business partner seemed. He’d never say it to him, but Patrick definitely noticed the bags under David’s shiny, bloodshot eyes. _He looks exhausted, upset. Did I do that?_

“Why don’t you take off early, man? I can finish up here. It’s the least I can do for you coming in this morning.” Patrick hoped he sounded nonchalant and casual. He was going for nonchalant and casual.

David stopped, tub of bath salts in hand, and brought his eyes to meet Patrick’s gaze. “That actually sounds really nice,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth twisting up into a gentle smile. “I’m pretty wiped. Are you sure you’re ok with that?”

“Yes, of course. Go get some rest. And…uh, thanks,” Patrick broke eye contact, it was all just too much, like David was looking into the deepest most scared parts of him and he just had to stop, to look away so he could remember how to breathe before he glanced back up, willing himself to get the words out. “Thanks, for…for this morning.” _Shit._ It was the goddamn frame all over again.

“You’re welcome, Patrick,” David’s voice was as soft as his smile. He put the last jar of bath salts into its proper place and carried the empty box into the back. Shortly afterward, David emerged with his day bag slung over his shoulder, casting Patrick another grateful smile. “See you tomorrow, Patrick. Have a good night.”

“Bye, David. Thanks again....for everything.”

* * *

Once he didn’t clear the air, it became exponentially harder to clear the air. And so Patrick did what he was good at. If you ignore something for long enough, eventually it will go away, right?

They soon settled back into a comfortable routine; it took a while, but eventually even the teasing returned. They worked well together, and Patrick truly enjoyed being David’s business partner. But it wasn’t enough; he wanted—needed—more.

So Patrick hiked; he thought about what he could do to win David over; he color-coded and planned and redid the Gantt chart. _It’s ok to revise the timeline,_ he thought to himself. 

And in the meantime, he bought another bottle of body oil and dreamt of kisses and stubble-burn and soft hands and wisteria tattoos.


	10. At Laaaaaaast....ok, not quite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Less angst, more kissing...a little bit of time jump to 4.01.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there folks. 2 chapters today because why the hell not. Enjoy.
> 
> And title is from Etta James. Sort of.

“No, YOU listen—”

The brusqueness of David’s interruption caught Patrick off guard. He felt the warmth spreading along the top of his ears and could tell they were turning red...and holy fuck, it made his cock twitch. Patrick schooled his face into as neutral an expression as he could manage as he looked up at the beautiful, ridiculous man in front of him. He _really_ likes looking up to David.

It had been less than 24 hours since David made that first kiss happen, but even though it was just last night it was also an entire lifetime ago, and another kiss from David would be all Patrick could ever possibly need or want. He kept playing it back in his mind—that soft, sweet press of his lips, the heat of David’s hand against his jaw, long fingers cupping his neck as he gently guided Patrick closer—on a nonstop loop. The faint, woodsy scent of David’s cologne, the sweetness of the chocolate cake they’d shared ( _Patrick only had one bite_ ) on his lips, the feather-light scratches of David’s five o’clock shadow against his face. It was better than he imagined and made him want to sing.

Granted, Patrick was still slightly mortified that he _thanked_ David after that perfect kiss—not exactly suave, he had to admit—but in the afterglow, he had just needed to let David know just how much it meant to him. And when the feelings had bubbled up, Patrick just let the words tumble out. In that beautiful moment, Patrick wanted to open his heart, his soul, his entire being up to share every possible part of himself with David. This desire to connect was so intense, so powerful that the overwhelming need for honest communication had won out over the primal part of him that had wanted to crawl over the console and onto to David’s lap so that he could do everything he’d been imagining for so goddamn long.

* * *

Patrick had wanted this so badly, for so long. But everything was just. _So_. _New_. For as much as he’d prided himself on being a take-charge kind of guy, with David he felt anything but. David made him flustered, giddy, horny as fuck. Nervous. And after last night, the intensity of it all was ratcheted up to an eleven. He needed to get his footing, feel less unmoored. So after they’d both shared more honest feelings about this new relationship, he fell back into the pattern of self-assured, teasing banter that had become so comfortable over the course of their blossoming partnership: 

“And hey, for the record, I...I also respect you and think that you’re a good person,” he teased, trying—maybe, but ok, not really—not to smirk.

“Mmm. It’s just, I said _nice_ person.” David’s dimples disappeared into slight uncertainty as hefished for a very specific compliment.

“I know.”

Patrick closed the short gap between them and snaked his arms around David’s waist. _Uncertain, flustered David is so damn adorable, and I get to have him._ Patrick let his eyes flicker down to those lush, inviting lips...and then he took charge. 

* * *

Taking it slow…what does that even mean? Patrick’s back was pressed against the wall just behind the curtain, and all of a sudden he needed to reevaluate everything he’d told David earlier. David was kissing him, open mouthed but gentle, tender— _careful_ , as if Patrick was a some kind of delicate flower that would wither and die from anything but the softest of touches, and it was glorious but it wasn’t enough. David was tracing his fingertips up and down Patrick’s arms, feather light and _oh so fucking delicious._ David’s body so solid and strong and _right there_ , and all Patrick wanted to do was wrap himself around David, arms and at at least one leg, if not two— _I bet David could hold me up and fuck me here against the wall,_ he thought—to pull him closer closer closer, to feel David’s body press against him, roll their hips together, grind their clothed erections together. Patrick was desperate to press his aching cock against David’s body, to get some sort of friction, to fucking dry hump until he came in his pants. But David was being so careful, so tender, such a _goddamn gentleman_ and kept pushing Patrick back to the wall _every time he tried to pull him closer,_ refusing to let their bodies touch and Patrick wanted to invent a time machine so that he could throat punch past Patrick because David was _right fucking there_ and he couldn’t have him. Patrick’s dick was throbbing against the zipper of his Levi’s and all he needed to do was snake his arms around David’s waist and pull him closer and grind against him and _why wouldn’t David just let him do that?_ And then David wasn’t even kissing him _softly_ and everything was suddenly horrible. 

“Hey, hey…you don’t have to do this,” David held Patrick’s face with both hands, looking down at him with a fond, lopsided grin, “it’s ok to take things slow.” He pressed his lips to Patrick’s forehead, the tip of his nose, and finally, _finally_ back to his lips. _That’s better,_ Patrick sighed into the kiss but then David’s mouth was moving again, meandering slowly to kiss and lick just behind Patrick’s ear, which made Patrick’s knees weak. _Yesgoodmore please._ David continued exploring down his neck to the dip just above his collarbone, all soft lips and just a hint of tongue and _oh my god_. Teeth. _Yes._ Patrick’s hips jerked forward and his cock twitched at the sharp sensation, and he could feel David smiling into his neck, still making sure that their bodies weren’t touching and it was the _absolute worst._ Patrick’s breath caught in his throat as he tried—and failed—to choke back a moan. This was too much. David was being so sweet and gentle and taking things slow just like stupid past Patrick had asked for and it was _too much_ and not enough and Patrick really needed to get his tongue in David’s mouth now.

“Mmmm-hmm, slow,” Patrick mumbled in agreement, but enough was enough; there’s slow and there’s glacial and it’s not like he’s a fucking _iceberg,_ “need more now.” So he slid one hand to the back of David’s head, running his fingers through his thick, dark hair; he wrapped his other arm even tighter around David’s waist, palm drifting down to press against David’s ass, pleased to feel the vibration of David moaning into his neck. _David likes that,_ he thought, and pulled him tighter, curling the fingers of both hands simultaneously, squeezing, pulling, drawing this beautiful man closer, wordlessly begging him to _please_ invade his personal space, to let him feel David’s body against him, and finally, _finally,_ David was doing it.

“Kiss me,” he breathed into David’s ear, letting out a contented sigh as David found his way back to Patrick’s mouth. Patrick took hold of David’s head with both hands, nuzzled his cheeks against the stubble on David’s jaw, relishing in the newness, the _rightness_ of the sensation.Patrick then pulled him in close, darting his tongue out to sweep against David’s lower lip, gentle, seeking, encouraging David to open his mouth. And David did. _Oh. My. God_.

Patrick licked into David’s mouth, suddenly tentative, but only for the slightest moment until David whimpered into his mouth. _Yes._ And holy fuck it was like a flood gate released. He thrust his tongue deeper into David’s mouth, seeking the taste and feel of David’s tongue, licking and teasing and wanting more. Patrick’s hands moved wildly from David’s head down to his hips and he _squeezed_ , digging his fingernails into the fabric of David’s jeans, wishing he could feel David’s skin, leave his mark on David’s body to admire later. Yes. This _. More._ He rolled his hips forward, hands moving to cup David’s ass and pull him closer closer closer and he felt it, David’s hard length pressing against his own erection and Patrick moaned into David’s mouth. It was the best thing Patrick had ever felt but he still wanted, no he absolutely _needed_ more. He rocked his hips, grinding his cock against David’s and went for more. More kissing, more friction, more of David’s entire body pressing him up against the wall and—then David wasn’t touching him any more and Patrick felt like he was actually going to die from the sudden loss of contact.

“Patrick.” David’s voice was soft but firm as he once again pinned Patrick against the wall, backing up to stand arm’s length away. “Look at me.” Patrick was panting as he whined a wordless objection and clambered to get back into David’s arms, but David stood firm. “Patrick, _no.”_

“David…David, please,” he whimpered, not entirely sure of what all he wanted that please to entail, but at the very least, he wanted to feel David against him again. “Please.”

“I know, I know, I know” David murmured and smiled that beautiful, lopsided grin as he brought his forehead down to rest against Patrick’s. That little gesture was so tender, so sweet that Patrick felt like his heart was literally going to explode, even though he was also incredibly frustrated that David wasn’t resting any part of him _at all_ against Patrick’s straining dick, and he felt the corners of his mouth curling up into a grin in spite of himself. He was just _so goddamn fond_ of this beautiful, ridiculous man in front of him. David slid his hands down from Patrick’s shoulders and interlaced their fingers together.

They stood there for a minute or maybe ten or maybe it was three hours—time just didn’t seem to work normally when he felt the gravitational pull of David Rose—hands intertwined, foreheads pressed together. They grinned dopily at each other as they felt their breath settle. Patrick traced tiny circles onto David’s palms with his thumbs, then tilted his head up. He nuzzled his cheek against David’s jaw, then turned to brush his lips against David’s.

“Thank you, David,” he whispered, shyly. Patrick didn’t elaborate, and David didn’t ask him to. There was a reason he’d told David he needed to go slow, but he had let himself get caught up in the moment. He was grateful that David, at least, could respect those boundaries, even if present Patrick had a problem with impulse control.

Now that they’d finally made this happen, they had all the time in the world, and Patrick wanted to savor every single moment of this shiny new development in their relationship, even if it meant he was going to need to spend some serious time with his favorite body oil as soon as he got home. His eyes twinkled at the prospect of David doing the same, as imagined David stripping off that bulky sweater and those tight jeans…He flashed the other man a wicked, shit-eating grin.

“Now, about that tattoo—” David cut him off with a sloppy kiss, and they kissed until the laughter made it impossible to continue.

_This is gonna be fun._


	11. Can we talk?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Open communication is important, so Patrick has to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the last chapter y'all. I tried. I really did. These boys just manage to get feelings all over everything, and I got caught up in the need for more talk before they got naked. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone at the Rosebudd for reassuring me that it was ok.

David was relieved when Patrick told him he wanted to take things slow.Because going slow meant that maybe, just maybe, David wasn’t a way for Patrick to scratch an itch. And, though it came as a surprise to realize it, because he wanted to go slow, too. David wasn’t used to relationships that moved slowly; he was used to being used hard and fast and left high and dry, to hook-ups that turned into booty calls and left him wanting. He’d been burned, a lot. So much that he’d managed to convince himself that he didn’t want the fairy tale. Well, maybe he wasn’t so much convinced that he didn’t want it as he was convinced he would never get it. And it was just much less depressing to pretend it was the former.

But this…this _whatever_ it was that was happening with Patrick? He wanted to enjoy it, for as long as it lasted, and to do whatever he could prolong what would inevitably be a painful, messy ending. _Wouldn’t it? Isn’t that what always happens?_ That part of his brain that built up walls and kept people at a distance was screaming at him, _Stay back or you’ll end up burned like the inside of a roasted marshmallow._ But for the first time in his life, there was a tiny voice in the back of David’s head that kept whispering, “What if this is different? What if _Patrick_ is different?” and David so desperately wanted to believe it. And to his surprise, he found that sometimes he _did._

So David settled in and readied himself to go slow, to savor every laugh and kiss and shy glance and gentle touch for as long as he possibly could. His dick could wait. Patrick was worth it.

_Don’t fuck this up._

* * *

_Epididymal Hypertension._ Patrick didn’t realize it was an actual thing until he was dating David Rose. But after their fourth make-out session in the storeroom ended with David pulling back, _again_ , he felt compelled to look it up. He wanted David so bad it fucking _hurt_ and that’s how he learned that blue balls was an actual thing and that he had what felt like the world’s worst case of it. 

But then they’d been dating for over two months, and Patrick still hadn’t gotten David naked. Not even close. That Project David timeline had been frozen in place for what seemed like 427 eternities, and Patrick was at a loss for how to move it forward.

Make David Rose fall in love with me

  * ~~Tell David how I feel~~
  * ~~Kiss David~~
  * Get David naked (How??????)



There’s slow and there’s glacial, and then there’s whatever the fuck comes slower than that.

And then there’s David.

Not that Patrick wanted to rush David into doing anything he wasn’t ready for…but, really, didn’t this start the other way around? Wasn’t _he_ the one who needed to take it slow?

Not that Patrick didn’t love kissing David and hugging David and making out with David, things that they’d been doing _a lot_. He just wanted to add more into their repertoire. A lot more. _All_ the more, really. 

He just couldn’t figure out how to make it happen, as much as he tried. And oh _man,_ did he ever _try._ Melting into every kiss, wrapping as much of his body around David’s as their lips crashed together, as he invited David’s tongue to lick into his mouth. Kissing and licking and nipping along David’s stubbled jawline to his neck, biting and sucking until David would have visible reminders whenever he looked in the mirror.Running his palms across David’s broad, firm chest, down his sides, fingers curling around his hips to claw into David’s firm, perfect ass. Drawing David into the storeroom and crowding him against the wall, slotting a thigh between David’s legs and grinding his cock against David’s hip. Thrusting his tongue into David’s mouth, matching the rhythm as he rolled his hips, desperate for release. Desperate to get his hands into David’s pants, desperate for David to touch him, and— _denied_. Every. goddamn. time.David was always so tender and gentle as he pushed Patrick away, even when Patrick was writhing and clawing and being perhaps the tiniest bit unreasonable in his objections. How could he be so _gentle_ when he had to be so _strong_ to move Patrick’s entire body like that? Patrick wanted to tear this beautiful man apart, and he couldn’t even get his hands on David’s dick.

Patrick’s whole body was singing with desire for David, and he couldn’t crack the the code to get David to let him have _more_. 

Scratch that. He knew what he needed to do; it just scared the fuck out of him. For the zillionth time since they met, his feelings for David Rose had Patrick venturing into uncharted territory. David wasn’t going to let Patrick just go with the flow, follow his lead and let things happen. Nope, Patrick realized, if he wanted more, he was going to have to ask for it. 

* * *

They’d just closed for the day and were starting their evening routines—restocking products, straightening up, reconciling the books, and other store-related tasks. 

“Can we talk?” Patrick chewed on his lower lip and struggled to maintain eye contact. He was nervous, but he wanted to prevent David from spiraling too much into anxiety before they spoke. Patrick knew this was a talk that needed to happen, and he knew that he had to be the one to initiate it.

So far, so good. Deep breaths.

“I…um, ok?” David’s voice went up about half an octave as he spoke. Patrick saw the panic flicker in those gorgeous brown eyes, and it made his heart ache.

“It’s just…well, I really want you,” he blurted, feeling the flush spread across his face to the tops of his ears. _Smooth, Brewer._ He saw the corner of David’s mouth twitch into the barest hint of a smile, “and uh, well, I’ve never wanted anyone like this before and, um, I think…I think maybe it would be a good idea to see if we’re on the same page…with our relationship.” Patrick had to look down at his feet as he felt David’s eyes boring into him.

_Breathe in._

_1\. 2. 3. 4._

_Breathe out._

_1\. 2. 3. 4._

Just keep going. _You can do this._

“I know that we agreed to take things slow, and I really appreciate how careful you’ve been about respecting my boundaries, but I’m…well, I’m ready for more. And I’ve been ready for a while and I guess I’m just worried that maybe you don’t want that…with, me, and that’s why we haven’t, you know—” Patrick brought his hands together in front of him, an open palm clapping against closed fist, unable to make the words come out of his mouth.

“I want you, too” David interrupted, voice soft but firm. Patrick looked up through his pale lashes, feeling a different kind of warmth flooding every part of his body. “You do?” David nodded vigorously in response, lips tightly pursed over his teeth as he held back a grin. “So where do we go from here?”

As David quickly closed the gap between them, Patrick’s gaze flickered down to David’s lips. “I think I have some ideas,” David purred, his eyes twinkling, before crashing his entire body into Patrick’s for a passionate kiss.

_Yes. More. Good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://olivebranchesandredwine.tumblr.com).


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick gets what he wants, aka here there be tattoos and smut, aka, yet another night at Stevie's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is all Patrick. I’m likely gonna do a David POV, too, because I am incapable of sticking to a plan. Shoutout to the lovelies at the Rosebudd, hope you enjoy your little cameo. :D

Patrick was going to combust. After weeks of David putting the brakes on any attempt to move their physical relationship forward, they were finally _finally_ on the same page. If only they could actually _do something_ about it.

* * *

David had rewarded his awkward profession of readiness with what was easily the most mind-blowing orgasm of Patrick’s life, dropping to his knees to worship Patrick’s dick with hands and mouth right there behind the register. It had been messy and loud and Patrick had loved _every goddamn second_ of feeling David’s sloppy mouth enveloping him in wet heat, tongue swirling and flicking and making Patrick see _motherfucking stars_ as he watched his gorgeous partner ( _Lover_? _boyfriend? that’s a talk we’ll have another time…_ ) swallow his cock, bobbing that beautiful head up and down his length, slurping and sucking and making the sexiest, most pornographic sounds Patrick had ever heard. And it had been over way too quickly, weeks of pent up frustration released like a tidal wave as Patrick came down David’s throat, grunting and groaning so loudly Twyla probably heard it at the cafe. 

It was perfect. Almost. If Patrick could change one thing about that night, he would’ve gotten to David first. So many nights of teasing, of only momentary brushes against the bulge in those tight jeans, of David working so diligently to keep their bodies from fully touching, Patrick was eager to finally get his hands into David’s pants, only to be denied— _again—_ when he reached, hands shaking with nerves and desire, for the button on David’s jeans _._ If he wasn’t so blissed out from the blowjob Patrick might have had the mental capacity to have been grumpy when David wrapped his big, soft hands around Patrick’s to stop him.

“Please, David—“ Patrick had whined, _Let me feel your dick, dammit._ He’d wrested one hand free to rub down the front of David’s pants, and _…_ Oh. _oh_. “Don’t do that,” David had used his _soft voice,_ mouthing against Patrick’s ear as he spoke, and Patrick’s brain may have gone a little offline, what with David’s lips against his ear and realizing that David had come in his pants. _Oh. “_ I got a little carried away,” David sounded so embarrassed and it was maybe the cutest thing Patrick had ever seen or heard and he just had to be kissing David _right now_ or he might actually die. And they had stayed there, kissing and caressing and smiling and laughing and looking until there was a loud banging against the window at they saw Roland and Jocelyn waving from the sidewalk and that was it, the mood was gone. It was only after the Schitts walked away that Patrick realized his dick was still hanging out of his pants and that maybe it wasn’t the most prudent business decision to fool around in the store like that.

* * *

Knowing that David wanted it, too, somehow made the waiting more bearable, so Patrick was able to relax a bit more into the blossoming relationship. Knowing that it was just a matter of time before he would get to have David’s beautiful body laid out naked quivering beneath him, oddly enough, brought Patrick a sense of peace; it allowed kisses to become more than desperation and frantic desire. OK, so there was still a lot of desperation, but Patrick also found himself delighting in kisses that were lazy and teasing and comfortable, David laughing his way into Patrick’s mouth, their lips coming together briefly, only to be interrupted by grins neither man could contain. Kisses of pure joy, kisses that were the promise of greater things to come, kisses full of the love taking hold of each man’s whole heart long before either would dare to admit possible. 

For days, days that somehow felt like seconds and eons at once, they subsisted on the tiniest morsels…a press of lips, a squeeze of thigh, a lingering full-body hug in the back room. Now that both men knew where they were headed, Patrick found himself less frustrated when David would slow down the storeroom make-out sessions, teasing him with lips and teeth and tongue, with whispered promises that he was going to make Patrick feel good, _feel so good, sweetheart, I promise you’re gonna feel so good_ grinding his hard cock against Patrick’s until he whimpered. It was divine torture and it was tearing Patrick apart and he was _so so ready_ for David to make those promises a reality.

_Oh, thank you, Stevie._

* * *

Tall, dark, and handsome guy just kissed my boyfriend. 

_My_ David.

_Mine._

Those lips are _mine_.

It wasn’t rational and hell, they hadn’t defined the relationship like that but _still_. That guy had just _kissed David_ and for a moment it went all _Kill Bill_ sirens in Patrick’s head.

At least David had the decency to look embarrassed about it.

The plan was already going off the rails and he _still_ hadn’t gotten David’s shirt off. _I’m gonna need a drink._

***

_Just lock that box up, Brewer. Eyes on the prize._

“Lock it up, David,” his voice was husky as he curled a hand around the back of David’s neck, drawing himself into that beautiful smirk, “Lock it up.” David laughed into the kiss, which made Patrick laugh, too, for just a moment before the kiss got hungry. They were alone, _completely alone,_ no sister or parents or landlord or passersby to interrupt them, and the whole night stretched out before them.

 _Oh my god,_ Patrick didn’t know if he just thought those words or muttered them into David’s mouth as they kissed, but it didn’t matter because David was _right here_ next to him on bench next to Stevie’s bed and they had the whole night and Patrick really needed for both of them to be less dressed now.

“I need…” Patrick’s voice trailed off, too many thoughts colliding inside his head for any single one to make it out of his mouth.

“Mmmm,” David moaned into his mouth. Was it a reply or request for more information? Patrick couldn’t tell, but it didn’t matter because David’s mouth was on his again, tongue licking and thrusting as David wrapped his arms around him, one hand gently cupping the back of his neck as the other pressed him back, back onto Stevie’s bed, slinging one leg over Patrick’s lap so that he was straddling him, rubbing himself against the bulge in Patrick’s jeans and it was _delicious._ Patrick rolled his hips up in response and the whimpering moan that movement elicited from David’s mouth was the _sexiest thing_ Patrick had ever heard and Patrick wanted to spend there rest of his life chasing ways to make that sound fall from David’s lips but his back was kind of bent at a weird angle over the foot of the bed, and now that he thought about it, that hard wood couldn’t feel good on David’s knees. 

“Can we…move this…to the bed,” Patrick haltingly mouthed the words into David’s mouth between kisses, and was again met with a wordless “Mmmmm” in response. Patrick wrapped one arm around David’s back, bracing the other against the rail of the footboard to press them both upright, not letting their mouths break contact until the last possible moment.

“Get on the bed, David,” he growled, much to David’s surprise and delight. The man’s eye’s twinkled; his mouth twisted into a crooked grin. “Yes, sir,” he cooed, and _holy fuck_ Patrick was here for _that._ David bent down to remove his shoes and then scrambled onto the bed, looking back invitingly, one eyebrow raised, at Patrick as he crawled his way to the center of the bed and rolled onto his back,“Join me?”

Patrick reached behind his head, grabbing a fistful of both his sweater and undershirt, and pulled them both off in one swift motion. He toed his shoes off and then, somewhat awkwardly, climbed from the chest onto the bed, eyes locked onto David’s the entire time like a predator ready to attack. David licked his lips, and Patrick was only vaguely aware that the half-whine, half-groan was coming from his own mouth. “C’mere, sweetheart,” and Patrick just _pounced._

They rolled around, luxuriating in the sensation of this full-body contact as they kissed, all lips and teeth and tongue and wandering hands and rocking hips, but Patrick was way more naked than David and they were both still wearing way more clothes than Patrick wanted, so he slid both hands underneath David’s black and white ( _what else?_ Patrick thought somewhat cheekily) sweater, breaking off the kiss just long enough to mutter _“off please”_ before he thrust his tongue back into David’s mouth, getting so caught up in the kiss that he forgot what he’d requested and let his hands roam up and down David’s back inside the sweater.

The next time it was David who broke off the kiss, lifting himself up to straddle Patrick’s lap as he reached down and pulled his sweater over his head. He turned toward the foot of the bed, carefully folding the sweater before setting it down on the chest, repeating the process with thefitted white undershirt that probably cost more than Patrick’s entire outfit.

_And oh. my. god._

Patrick’s breath hitched and he had to remind himself to do it again, and then again, because breathing was no longer something that his body did without a reminder, apparently, as his eyes took in the sight of David’s muscular, _colorful_ back. Broad swirls of color spread across his shoulders, blues and greens and purples and the occasional accent of orange, a vibrant backdrop to the tangles of flowers—wisteria, cherry blossoms, others that Patrick couldn’t identity—that wove their way down his spine, disappearing beneath his skinny jeans. Small and not-so small birds peeked out from thickets, their feathers composed of a thousand delicate little lines of color. Patrick reached out a curious hand to trace along David’s back, uncertain and tentative as he followed the branch of a cherry blossom down into an abstract swash of cerulean into the delicate features of a songbird. It was the most intricate tattoo (tattoo? _tattoos_? he couldn’t even tell at this point) Patrick had ever seen and he just needed a moment to drink it all in.

David, shirtless before him.

David, revealing himself in a way Patrick couldn’t have imagined before this very moment.

“It’s all…you can’t….” he stuttered through several false starts, stumbling to find the words to communicate everything racing through his mind, “I had no idea. Underneath the black and white. You…why?” OK, so maybe he wasn’t operating at his most eloquent, but he was utterly mesmerized and what even are words, anyway?

David turned to face him, eyes soft, shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He kissed Patrick’s forehead, the tip of his nose, his lips. “It’s…complicated. I like having something for myself,” he started, “something that can’t get ripped away…” his voice trailed off, the crushing weight of all David had lost in his life palpable in the silence. Patrick’s heart _hurt_ at the rawness of David’s voice, of David opening himself up so fully and unexpectedly. This creative, impossibly intelligent, beautiful, sexy man was laying his soul and body bare before him and it was all Patrick could do to stop himself from screaming “I love you” right then and there, but now was not the time, it was too soon, too much. 

“Thank you for letting me in on your secret,” he murmured into David’s mouth, rubbing his cheeks against David’s stubble before nipping and licking down his neck, pausing briefly to nibble and suck a small mark of his own into the blank skin above David’s collarbone, _something to add to his collection_ , Patrick thought nonsensically, before moving on. It wasn’t quite kissing, what he was doing—gently dragging parted lips over David’s body, occasionally darting his tongue out to trace along one of the patterns—but it wasn’t _not_ kissing, and Patrick had the overwhelming need to do it to every bit of David’s tattooed skin. He mouthed over the night sky spilled down from David’s shoulder and onto his chest; he nuzzled his face into the coarse dark hair until he reached David’s nipple, gentle kisses and flicks of his tongue turning into sharper nips until he elicited the desired reaction—nipple pebbled in his mouth, David’s moan ringing in his ears—and then moved to give the other one the same treatment.

David’s hips rolled slowly, almost lazily as Patrick worked his way down his torso, lavishing him with attention that Patrick had no way of knowing was something David had never experienced. In that moment, all Patrick could think was that he wanted to give David the world, the stars, the moon, and if that wasn’t possible, at the very least the most intense orgasm of his life.

“Need these off,” he struggled, ungracefully, with the button of David’s skinny jeans, “off now please,” Patrick huffed. David chuckled at his impatience, but made quick work of wiggling out of his pants until David lay before him, clad in nothing but a pair of silky black boxer briefs and socks, the most breathtaking thing Patrick had ever seen. Patrick paused to fold David’s jeans and place them on the chest, and then took the opportunity to clamber out of his own jeans before climbing back onto the bed at David’s feet, removing the socks and tossing them to the floor before bringing his mouth down to kiss David’s ankle. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured as he started to kiss and tease his way up David’s leg, relishing in the sensation of the coarse hair dragging against his lips, “Feels so good, sweetheart,” pausing to admire the underwater scene on David’s right thigh, honestly a little surprised that David would have an _octopus_ tattooed on his body, but that’s a conversation for another time. He dragged his tongue up one of the tentacles until his mouth reached the fabric of David’s briefs.

“More…Up…Off… Please,” Patrick was too focused on how David’s skin felt against his tongue, how his body was writhing at his touch, to bother himself with proper words, but he still managed to get the message across. David lifted his hips so that Patrick could slide his briefs down his legs so that could David kick them off. A contented little sigh escaped Patrick’s lips as he settled between David’s legs, sliding an arm underneath one of David’s thighs so that he could snuggle his cheek against it as admired David’s cock, “Mmmmm.” It jutted out thick and long against David’s body, a fat drop of precome glistening at the tip, and it was all Patrick could do not to swallow it down right then, but he had a plan.

He looked up to see David watching him intently, pupils dilated and mouth open, in anticipation of whatever Patrick was going to do next. “Can I..” Patrick looked down to David’s cock, then let his gaze drop lower before moving back to David’s eyes. “You can do whatever you want, honey,” David was wrecked with lust already, his hips rolling gently against the mattress.

Patrick leaned forward and licked a wet stripe from the base of David’s cock to the tip, pausing to swirl his tongue around the head, and then licked back down to his balls, loving the sensation of David bucking his hips at Patrick’s touch. He laved and sucked first one and then the other into his mouth as he slid a hand underneath David’s other thigh and lifted it up into a better position. He kissed and licked along David’s perineum, spread his cheeks with both hands, and stopped, eyes glued on David’s face, waiting for him to make eye contact. Patrick opened his mouth so that he could tease David’s hole with warm breath, causing David to squirm beneath him, “David, is this ok?”

David looked down at him, eyes wild and confused as he realized what Patrick was asking. He nodded slowly, chewing on his lower lip, out of nerves or lust or both, but it wasn’t enough, “David, use your words,” his voice gravelly with desire.

“Yes yes god yes,” _Thank fucking god_ and Patrick finally got his mouth on David’s ass, kissing and licking and teasing along the rim, flattening his tongue to sweep broad strokes along the outside his hole,moving up and down his perineum before coming back down again. David writhed beneath him, hips jerking involuntarily as Patrick sucked and licked and nibbled.And when he spread David’s cheeks further and speared his tongue inside, it was like a floodgate broke. “ _Fuck_ , Patrick!” and then David couldn’t stop shouting a filthy litany of pleasure. He furiously jerked his cock while Patrick fucked him with his tongue until the was on the edge of the abyss. “I’m gonna come,” he grunted, and Patrick really wanted David to come down his throat but he couldn’t tear himself from David’s ass fast enough. David moaned as his orgasm spilled onto his stomach before going all gooey and boneless, smiling down at Patrick in dreamy, fucked out bliss. Patrick crawled along David’s body, nuzzling his whole face into his body hair, licking up the come spattered across David’s stomach and chest as he made his way up.

Patrick cuddled up beside David, resting his head on David’s shoulder, draping an arm over David’s chest and tangling their legs together. “Can I tell you something?” he grinned wickedly at his boyfriend ( _yep, we’re going to have that talk soon,_ he thought), who answered wordlessly with a lift of those expressive eyebrows. “Yup, I'm _definitely_ queer,” and he burst into giggles.

David pressed his forehead to Patrick’s and grinned, then kissed him on his forehead, the tip of his nose…“You don’t have to—” cutting him off with a kiss. They giggled and grinned and kissed until they fell asleep in each others’ arms.

_Yes, definitely something good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and for all the lovely comments, everyone!


	13. Enough to Drive You Mad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'all asked, so here you go. Stevie's apartment, part 2. David's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut and feelings, what a glorious combination. Title from an Amy Shark song. As always, this is barely proofread and unbetaed. Love to all, especially the filthmongers at the Rosebudd.

David woke to pressure along the left side of his chest, an unfamiliar heaviness, and for a few seconds, he felt his stomach churning as his insides knotted up as they’d do at the beginning of a panic attack. But then the heaviness shifted as a sleeping Patrick snuggled in even tighter against David’s side, flinging a leg over David’s hips. Oh… _oh…_ he thought about the evening’s activities and felt a different kind of pressure starting up at the base of his abdomen. _Oh._ That had been…unexpected. Granted, he didn’t really know _what_ to expect about tonight, and had tried really hard _not_ to expect anything. But even still…having Patrick bury his gorgeous, button-face in David’s ass and rim him until he came was _certainly_ not what he expected. It wasn’t something he’d even thought to imagine. But if there’s one thing that he’s learned about Patrick over the course of their relationship, it’s that Patrick is full of surprises. Delicious surprises.

And then they’d just…talked? And cuddled. And kissed. Until David fell asleep. Oh god. _I didn’t even get him naked_ , David suddenly remembered, lifting the comforter to check. Yup, still in his tighty-whiteys. This beautiful, sexy boy had made David come so hard and then just snuggled up with him and let him _just go to sleep_ without even getting to come.

David flushed as he watched Patrick nestled into the crook of his arm, face slack with sleep, eyelids softly fluttering. _I wonder what he’s dreaming_ , David tilted his head forward so that he could gently kiss the top of Patrick’s forehead. This wasn’t a part of sex David was used to. Just…cuddling together in bed, sleeping? Passing out after too much partying was one thing, but this? Waking up to find Patrick still there, still holding him? This felt transgressive. This felt tender. This felt wrong. This felt… _nice._ David wasn’t used to that. Guys like him didn’t get _nice._

 _“Nmghhh,”_ Patrick mumbled something unintelligible and moved his arm around David’s body, squeezing even closer against him, “ _nmngghh_.” Whatever it was he was saying, David thought, he seemed satisfied. David leaned in to the moment, wrapping his free arm around to rest on Patrick’s broad, naked back and pressing his lips into Patrick’s hair in a series of soft, fluttery kisses. In this moment, David felt utterly content. He was terrified. He could stay right here forever. He wanted to run away. He wanted to wrap himself even tighter around Patrick and never let go. David kissed Patrick on the forehead, the tip of his nose, and snuggled down closer so that he could reach to kiss his lips.

Patrick answered the gentle brush of his lips with a contented “Mmmmm,” and started rolling his hips, grinding his crotch into David’s left hip. David didn’t even try to bite back his grin, overcome with fondness at the thought of this beautiful button grinding against him in his sleep. Then Patrick moved his arm down David’s stomach and clumsily groped around for his dick.

“S’no fair, I’m not left handed,” he muttered into David’s chest, eyes still closed, palming David’s soft cock, dragging his fingertips along the delicate skin of his balls. David’s dick didn’t seem to mind—the non-dominant hand or the fact that Patrick was asleep—and was beginning to get hard in response to the attention. _Nope. Not happening like this._ David rolled onto his right side, shifting so that Patrick’s hand was resting on his hip.

Almost immediately, he felt the heat of Patrick’s body against his back, Patrick’s left arm snaking up around his stomach and holding him tight. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked,” Patrick breathed against David’s neck, nuzzling his face behind his ear before trailing light kisses down to the top of his shoulder.

“It’s not...Ididn’t....I just thought you were asleep,” David stumbled over the words, “it’s not that I didn’t like it. I just....I didn’t want you doing anything you might regret.” He was glad Patrick couldn’t see his face, that he couldn’t see Patrick’s face, because he didn’t want him to have any regrets. And didn’t they always have regrets?

“How about now?” Patrick’s voice was deep, husky from sleep, but David could tell he was very much awake. Patrick’s hand glided down from David’s stomach to his hip and held firm as Patrick rolled his own hips forward, pressing his clothed erection against David’s naked ass. He licked up David’s neck and nipped at his earlobe, making David’s hips buck of their own volition. “Can I touch you now?” _Oh fuck yes._

David rolled his body into Patrick’s hands, offered his neck up to Patrick’s mouth, moaning in pleasure as Patrick sucked and licked and nipped that spot just below his ear, and then Patrick was climbing on top of him, slotting David’s thigh between his own, hips rolling slowly, gently, offering the most delicate, glancing of touches of the bulge in Patrick’s briefs against his own straining cock. _Mmmmm_ ….David slipped both arms around Patrick’s shoulders, drawing him down closer, but Patrick was still supporting most of his own weight on his forearms, rocking his chest in large, lazy circles just above David’s own. _Why isn’t he touching me?_ David lifted his mouth, licking along the seam of Patrick’s lips, sucked gently on his lower lip, tickled with satisfaction when Patrick groaned into his mouth. But still, Patrick was keeping his distance, denying David the pleasure of feeling Patrick’s weight pushing him into deeper into Stevie’s surprisingly soft mattress and David _needed_ that _right now,_ so he removed his arms from around Patrick’s neck, one at time, sliding one hand down a muscled shoulder and then around to rest at the top of Patrick’s briefs. He dragged his fingernails from the small of Patrick’s back up to his shoulder blades, making Patrick gasp but still, he kept that distance between their chests, making those slow circles, and oh— _oh,_ David realized the Patrick was teasing himself, letting his nipples graze against David’s chest hair and it was the hottest thing David had ever experienced. _Oh my god_. He felt his whole body flush with desire and yes, maybe a little— _ok, a lot_ —anxiety at the realization. This sexy man, whose tongue had been in David’s ass just hours ago, was still _so new_ to everything and was finding so much pleasure in the sensation of David’s chest hair. His first time feeling another man’s chest so close to his own.

It was a lot. It was too much. Too intimate. David felt a bubble of panic as his mind started wondering to that day in the future when Patrick would inevitably move on, and it was _too much._ So hecurled his fingers, dug his nails into Patrick’s muscular back, and _clawed all the way down_ , suddenly desperate to make his mark on the beautiful, blank canvas of Patrick’s back.

“Fuck, David!” Patrick’s whole body tensed as he reared up. David was caught off guard to hear the expletive come from Patrick’s clean mouth, and _holy fuck_ it _did things,_ but David’s brain was overloaded and for a moment he thought he’d gone too far, had ruined the mood by hurting Patrick until Patrick started frantically rutting against David’s thigh. “Get these off, _off_ ” David tugged, _hard,_ at the offending briefs, “off off off.” Patrick fumbled up to kneel on the bed, just enough to shove his briefs down to his knees before getting too distracted by David’s pretty pretty cock leaking precome onto his stomach. He bent down to lick at the tip, spreading the tangy, salty liquid across his lips with his tongue, then opening his mouth to suck, oh so gently, on the head. “Mmmmm.” Patrick hummed in sheer delight at _finally_ having David’s cock inside him.

 _Oh motherfucking CHRIST_ , David couldn’t keep his hips from jerking up off the mattress when Patrick took his cock into his mouth. He brought a fist to his own mouth and just _bit down_ on his knuckles while the other hand snaked around the back of Patrick’s head, fingers spreading over the short hair. Maybe if he bit hard enough he would be able to behave, to keep his hips still, to not give in to the urge to wrap both hands around Patrick’s head and fuck up into that clean mouth that was doing such _filthy_ things to David’s cock. _Fuck_. For someone who’d never had a cock in his mouth before, Patrick was a goddamn _savant._ He flattened his tongue to lick up the underside of David’s shaft, stopping to flick back and forth along the frenulum, then dipping the tip into the slit, and swirling around the head, before opening his mouth and sucking David in.

It was too much and David wanted to die and he wanted stay there with his dick in Patrick’s hot mouth _forever,_ and he bit down hard on his knuckles again but he couldn’t...he just needed.... _fuck_ he bucked up into Patrick’s mouth. And that sweet button-face, with his lips around David’s cock, covered the hand David had on his head with his own and _pushed_...oh god Patrick was actually _encouraging_ David to fuck up into his mouth and that was _it_. David moved his other hand to Patrick’s head and thrust up, trying so hard to be gentle, to hold back but _oh my god_ it felt so good. Patrick moved his hands to wrap around David’s ass and dig his fingernails as David fucked his face and David knew he was gonna come again it felt so good and wondered how it would feel to come down Patrick’s throat—

 _STOP_. David _had_ to stop. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. This was too much.

Patrick had started bobbing his head up and down on David’s cock when David stopped moving, and David just couldn’t think so he just threaded his fingers through Patrick’s short hair and _pulled_.

“Stop.” Patrick’s head shot up as soon as he heard the word, and it made David’s heart beat entirely too fast and hard to see how he just _listened_. David wasn’t used to anyone responding that quickly, even when he used a safe word and all at once he was just feeling _too much_.

“What’s wrong?” David could hear the anxiety flaring up in Patrick’s voice, and _oh yeah_ , he remembered this was Patrick’s first time. “No...nothing,” he stuttered in response, “I was just about to come again.” David couldn’t believe that he felt so goddamn shy _in bed_ like this, that this button-up baby gay boy was making him so nervous in the _one place_ where he was sure that he knew what he was doing.

That million-watt spread across Patrick’s face as he looked thoughtfully at David’s face,“That’s what I was going for,” and he set his chin down right next to David’s dick, careful not to touch, but close enough that David could feel the heat radiating off of Patrick’s cheek.

“But I haven’t gotten my turn to play with you yet,” David felt his cheeks flush, but he met Patrick’s wide grin with a lopsided smirk of his own. And suddenly Patrick’s smile was gone, and in its place was a wild look of pure hunger, his swollen lips slightly parted, skin flushed, pupils blown wide with lust. He started to crawl up the length of David’s body, only to get tangled up the briefs he’d never finished removing and find himself face-planting onto the mattress right next to David’s hip. Both men began to giggle, as Patrick rolled onto his back to remove the offending article of clothing. 

“That was graceful,” David teased, joyfully drawing Patrick into his arms. This felt so good. This felt easy. It was Patrick and they were naked and laughing and it felt so _right_ and it felt _easy_. He pulled Patrick closer, pressing his cheek to the top of Patrick’s head.

“Shut up,” Patrick bit David above his nipple, but he was still laughing too hard to make a lasting mark. David took advantage of the moment; and he nudged Patrick onto his back and rolled himself on top, licking into Patrick’s mouth as he rolled his hips, slowing dragging the tip of his cock against Patrick. “Oh my gooo—,” Patrick’s words broke off at the sensation, his hips bucking violently, seeking out more friction, more _David._ “Mmm-hmmm, you like that?” David whispered huskily as his lips trailed toward Patrick’s ear. “Told you it was my turn to play, sweetheart.” He licked a trail from Patrick’s earlobe down his neck, stopping just above his collarbone. “Promise this one will be _professional_ ,” he purred as he took the time to alternate biting and sucking until a deep crimson bruise was blossoming underneath his mouth. Patrick just whimpered, fingernails digging into the meat of David’s ass as he rolled his hips, “David…please, David. Wanna feel you. Please.”

That’s it. As much as David wanted to draw this out, he just _couldn’t_ with that broken little please. He lifted up from Patrick—making him _whine_ at the loss of contact—and reached over to rummage in the bag he’d left on the nightstand. He snapped the cap open and let a few drops pour into his hand, and then moved back to straddle Patrick. He leaned down for a kiss and then took them both in his lubed hand, slowing teasing up and down until Patrick was writhing beneath him. “David, _please_ ,” he begged, and that was _it._ He practically fell into Patrick’s mouth for a bruising kiss, his tongue fucking into Patrick’s mouth to the same rhythm that he moved his hips, thrusting against Patrick’s thick cock. Their movements grew frenzied as both men hurtled closer toward climax, all rocking hips and grinding cocks; the kiss a passionate, frantic mess of teeth and tongues until it was too overwhelming, too much at once and they rested forehead to forehead, each man watching the other so intently, utterly transfixed, unable to look away, even if that had been something either could have ever wanted.

David was the first to fall over the edge of the abyss; he bit his lower lip, groaning as his release exploded between them, sticky and wet and warm; and seeing—no _feeling—_ David let go was all it took for Patrick to follow after him, his whole body _shaking_ as he came violently, adding to the mess between them as he cried out, wordless, at the exquisite, torturous pleasure. David gently rolled to his side and snuggled in close, curling his larger frame around Patrick and just basking in the afterglow. 

It took minutes or maybe hours or years for them to come down, for their ragged breath to settle, for either to be even remotely aware of the _possibility_ of moving. This was new for David; lying there, smelling of sweat and sex, their come starting to dry on his stomach, and all he wanted to do was stay wrapped around this beautiful man next to him for as long as possible. David noticed the evenness of Patrick’s breathing, noticed that his face had gone slack. _Asleep._ With his legs tangled up with David’s, his arms wrapped tight, pulling David’s head into his chest. David grinned to himself, blinking back the tears that were starting to sting his eyes, and pulled the comforter up around them both.

 _The shower can wait._


	14. Epilogue: Toronto, circa 2020

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newlyweds David and Patrick have a weekend away in Toronto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the risk of sounding like the boy who cried wolf, only with tattoos and smut, this is legit the end. This is the little epilogue I've had in my brain since this whole thing was just a little headcanon for me. 
> 
> I want to thank everyone so much for your kindness in the comments (I'll continue to respond to them as quickly as I can!); for all the excitement shown on the FB book club--Molly, your comments make me smile so MUCH!); and lastly, for the wonderful, supportive group of brilliant writers, readers, and all-around awesome people at the Rosebudd for encouraging me as I've waded into this wacky, wonderful place that is SC fandom. 
> 
> And for anyone who's curious about David's tattoos in this, check out the work of [Amanda Wachob](http://amandawachob.com), the artist whose work inspired this headcanon in the first place. 
> 
> Ciao!

Patrick’s eyes dart nervously between the tray set up beside him and the slight woman moving around the him. There are several tiny cups of ink laid out alongside some rather scary looking needle things in sealed clear wrappers, a disposable razor, lots of other stuff covered in plastic. The bright little corner of the immense gallery space somehow feels intimate, even with voices from other parts of the room echoing around him, but he still finds the whole situation a bit unnerving.

He gets a hint of a familiar, woodsy scent breaking through the antiseptic smell of the little tattoo space, and turns his head to see his gorgeous husband smiling down at him. _Husband._ It sends a shiver down his spine whenever he thinks of it. _David is my husband.We’re married._

“You’re sure about this?” David asks.

“Yes. I’m sure…Just nervous about the needles,” Patrick says that last part more to his lap than to David, more than a little bashful to tell his heavily-tattooed husband _(husband,_ he sighs internally) that he’s worried about the tattoo _hurting._

David picks up Patrick’s left hand with his own, letting his thumb graze softly over Patrick’s wedding ring before interlacing their fingers. He brings Patrick’s hand up to his mouth for a kiss. “Don’t worry, Button,” he murmurs, “I’ll be holding your hand the whole time.” And with that, Patrick’s heart melts just a little more and for what’s easily the hundredth time today he wonders how he got to be so lucky to get to call this beautiful, sexy, kind-hearted man is own.

A woman’s voice interrupts Patrick’s gooey-eyed reverie. “Are you ready?”

“Yup,” he squirms a little in the seat, hoping to get that last little bit of nervous energy out of his system before she gets started. He struggles to unbutton his shirt with just one hand, unwilling to let go of David’s…which, he realizes, makes the process that much slower, but maybe he’s stalling, just a little bit. But then his shirt is open and she is spraying his chest with something green and cold that smells kind of nice, and then dragging the disposable razor along his pec, and then pressing a stencil with the outline of the design against his chest. She turns toward the table and he can hear the whirr of the tattoo machine (definitely not a _gun,_ Patrick smiled, remembering the lecture David had given him on why that was _incorrect_ ). Patrick takes a few deep breaths, and looks at David.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“Love you, too,” David whispers back, bringing their linked hands up to his mouth for another gentle kiss.

* * *

The intricate design takes a couple hours to complete, and after the initial anxiety wears off, Patrick think he might understand what David meant years earlier when he said he found the experience of getting tattooed calming, meditative, even. Well, not really. It wasn’t the tattoo doing that for Patrick; it was his husband. David holding his hand, brushing his thumb over Patrick’s palm, David talking to him about vendors for the shop…David being David, so caring and compassionate and loving and Patrick’s eyes well up just thinking about him. 

When she finishes up, Patrick thanks her, and then leaves David to chat about his upcoming project. He loses track of time as he wanders around the gallery, but David and Amanda are still engrossed in their conversation when he finally makes it make to their corner. David wraps her up in a tight hug, glad to have reconnected after all these years. They talk about their plans for her next visit to Toronto—David promises to email her mood boards and other ideas as he develops them. They all say their goodbyes and head their separate ways.

* * *

“Is it supposed to itch this soon? Do you think something’s wrong?” Patrick doesn’t like it when he’s not the most well-informed person in the room, and this is _definitely_ a subject where David’s got him beat. 

“You’re fine,” David’s tuned him out, paying more attention to his Insta feed or something than to Patrick’s questions.

They’re stretched out on opposite sides of the king-sized bed in their hotel room, trying to decide whether to go out to dinner or just order room service, but David keeps getting distracted by his phone. They’ll be heading home to Schitt’s Creek in the morning and want to make the most of this little weekend away, the closest thing to a honeymoon they’ll have for the near future. Patrick had hoped to whisk his new husband away for a romantic tropical vacation, but David just wasn’t ready to leave the store for that long yet.

Thankfully, David has gotten better at compromise over the course of their relationship, so Patrick was thrilled to surprise him with this weekend trip to meet up with his New York tattoo artist, and with the news that Patrick wanted to get a tattoo—two roses, based on the logo for Rose Apothecary, interwoven just above Patrick’s heart. That David got to plan out a session for himself for her next visit to Toronto was icing on the cake. 

But now, Patrick is grumpy and hungry and his fresh tattoo feels hot and David doesn’t seem to care _at all. “David,”_ and yes, Patrick is whining, but he kind of thought his romantic gesture deserved a bit more attention and excitement, and yes, some loud hotel sex, but _at least_ more attention than his iPhone. “Have we settled into the boring part of marriage already?” he pouts, and _finally_ David looks up at him.

“Come here, handsome,” David purrs, and yes, Patrick knows he’s a sucker when David uses his sexy _soft_ voice, but he crawls over anyway. “Dinner will be here in about half an hour, so what should we do while we wait?” He’s got an eyebrow raised and a twinkle in his eyes, and Patrick can’t stop the big, stupid grin from spreading across his face. He loves this sweet, ridiculous, beautiful man _so much_ and why was he even grumpy a minute ago?

“Oh, I bet we can think of something,” Patrick leans in for a kiss and _seriously,_ what had he been thinking about before? Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter because David is kissing him and Patrick still sees stars, even now, after years together, after standing up before friends and family and professing their love and commitment, after saying yes to all the beautiful possibilities David Brewer-Rose has brought into his life, he still feels butterflies in his stomach and sees _motherfucking_ stars _every single time_ David kisses him.

“Are you sure you’re ok to play? I know how much that new tattoo is bothering you,” David doesn’t even try to bite back the smirk as he breaks away from the kiss. _Ass._ “Be nice to me, David. I’m healing,” he feigns a wound tone, then nips at David’s lower lip before licking into his mouth, teasing at his tongue. Patrick climbs into his husband’s lap, a soft moan breaking from his mouth as David draws his hands up Patrick’s thighs to cup his ass. “Need less…dressed,” Patrick tugs at the hem of David’s sweater with one hand, strains to undo the buttons on his own shirt with the other, and is so distracted that both missions fail miserably. David shifts to quickly unbutton his husband’s blue shirt, pushing it open and halfway down his arms before he’s interrupted by Patrick pulling his sweater up and over his head, “off now please,” so that he can get back to thrusting his tongue into David’s mouth, rocking his hips into David’s lap to the same rhythm.

“Want you,” he breathes the words into David’s mouth, refusing to break contact with those lush pink lips, as his fingers card through thick hair. “Need you _right_ now.” Patrick’s dick is hard and achingly pressed against his jeans, and he can feel David’s erection straining even through the several layers of fabric that comprise his layered pants. They need to be less dressed. _Now._

Patrick rolls off of David’s lap and makes quick work of unbuckling his belt and sliding out of his jeans. As he turns to crawl back into his husband’s lap, Patrick’s jaw drops. He can’t believe he didn’t notice it earlier. How did he manage to take off David’s shirt without seeing _that_? There, in a newly-shaved diamond at the center of David’s chest, is white rose, open in full bloom, with a blue button resting at its center. _A button right over David’s heart._ It is cheesy and sappy and maybe the sweetest, most romantic thing Patrick could ever imagine and he cannot believe that David would do something like that unironically.

“When did you—“ Patrick’s own thoughts interrupt the question on his lips, “that meeting with Amanda this morning?” David nods vigorously, biting back the smile threatening to open up his whole face. “Took you long enough to notice, Mr. Brewer-Rose,” David sasses him, mouth twisted into that trademark crooked grin, but his eyes are soft and twinkling as he opens his arms and beckons Patrick to cuddle in close.

“I’m so glad I decided to invest in your business, David Brewer-Rose,” he whispers, almost fiercely, hands wrapping around David’s neck as he showers his cheeks, his jaw, his lips with delicate kisses.

“Me too,” David’s voice is joyful, his smile so large and bright it lights up the whole goddamn _room,_ as he moves to rest his forehead against Patrick’s. “I love you, Patrick Brewer-Rose.”

The newlyweds grin dopily at each other for minutes or maybe hours—time still doesn’t quite work the way it usually does when Patrick is under David’s gravitational pull—until a knock interrupts the reverie.

_“_ PIZZA!” proclaims a voice outside the door. David’s on his feet and prancing to the door before Patrick can fully process what’s happening. 

_Dammit._ Patrick knows not to get between David and his dinner. Playtime will have to wait.

_That’s ok, though. We’ve got the rest of our lives._

THE END 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artwork!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the lovely and talented [StardustDeanCas](%E2%80%9C) for the artwork! I am a blubbering grateful mess.


End file.
